


Until You Make It

by AndreaDTX



Series: Until You Make It [1]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Erik Lehnsherr, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, M/M, Mutants are Known, Omega Charles Xavier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-23 12:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30055467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaDTX/pseuds/AndreaDTX
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr, the junior senator from New York, is a once-in-a-generation political wunderkind. There are even murmurs of a potential bid for President. But at 34, as a young, unmated Alpha, even his most fervent supporters are wary. Finding a bondmate would give him a far greater air of credibility. But dating as a well-known politician is public relations nightmare waiting to happen with no guarantee of finding the right person. Raven, Erik’s campaign manager, has a solution: her brother, Charles Xavier.Charles has finally found his niche, researching genetic mutations in relative anonymity. Then he gets a call from his sister asking an impossibly huge favor. He's the ideal politician’s mate, but having fled that life years ago, he has little interest in politics or returning to the pretentious, exclusionary upper echelon he loathed during his childhood.When the two finally meet, sparks immediately fly, making it the perfect pairing of convenience. But it’s more than a question of chemistry. They have to survive the media, the tabloids, and the political opponents who’d love nothing more than to take them down.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Raven | Mystique, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy & Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy/Raven | Mystique
Series: Until You Make It [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211069
Comments: 44
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to share this with you guys. This plot bunny popped up all the way back in November and I've been following it ever since.
> 
> Note: This is modern day. Erik’s the only known-mutant in the Senate and one of only two dozen in the entirety of Congress. The political world in this AU diverges from our world after Lyndon B Johnson.

“And, once adopted, this bill will significantly increase the quality of life for both mutants and baselines alike in addition to enhancing and magnifying the impact of the resources available for community safety,” Erik says in summary, drawing his speech to a close. “Now, I only have a few more minutes, but I’ll take as many questions as I can.”

He’d called the presser to drum up public support for the criminal justice reform bill he’s co-sponsoring. So far, the reporters have been receptive, listening and jotting notes, but the group seems a bit distracted, obviously not yet having found the eye-catching lede they’re seeking. At his closing announcement, the whole scrum bursts into a flurry of waving hands, chirping _Senator! Senator!_

“Jessica,” Erik says, pointing out the reporter from the Associated Press.

The woman smiles, clearly pleased that he’s respected the tradition of the AP getting the first question.

“Thank you, Senator Lehnsherr. With President Bryant term-limited, the candidate field will be wide open for both parties in the upcoming presidential election. There’ve been rumors that you might be throwing your hat into the ring. Any comment?”

The groups quiets, awaiting his response.

Ah… So _this_ is what they’d really been waiting for. He should’ve known. Predictable, but still a bit frustrating. His bill truly will help a lot of people. Multi-faceted, one of its focuses is sentencing, which is systemically ten percent higher across all minority groups, twenty-one percent higher for known-mutants, and nearly thirty-three percent higher for mutants with visible mutations. Under the new bill, the Courts would have to collect data on how much average time is sentenced for each type of crime and the Department of Corrections would likewise record how much time is actually served on average, broken down by social categories. The bill would then require judges and parole boards to factor this information into to their sentencing and release decisions, increasing or decreasing time based on actual criminal history and other mitigating factors. But that’s mundane criminal law and not easily compressed into a click-bait title.

He smiles, the way he’s practiced extensively, a soft curve of lips that conveys ease, confidence, and charisma.

“While I’m quite flattered,” he says truthfully, “I’m very happy serving the people of New York and have no additional plans at this time. Next question, please.”

He picks Eddie, a dark-haired man in a dark blue blazer.

“You’ve said you’re not planning a run, but your speech at the National Convention last year went viral, and people are starting to wonder if perhaps America is ready for a Mutant-American in the White House? Would you agree, even if that Mutant isn’t you?”

Erik is already nodding, pausing for only a brief moment to consider his words.

“I’m glad my words resonated,” Erik says. “America is a land of opportunities for _all_. Those opportunities have included going all the way to the moon and back. I don’t see why the White House should be out of reach.”

He shouldn’t encourage them. It feeds pointless speculation and pulls focus from his true objectives. But mutant rights are now, have always been, and always will be one of his unadulterated, defining motivations, able to draw him into passionate debate with a few well-placed questions. Internally, he sighs, knowing he’s lost the thread for today. The increase in excitement is nearly tangible, thumbs rapidly tapping away at screens to jot down initial impressions of his response, to be fleshed out later into dozens of highly opinionated think pieces. The waters have been chummed and the reporters who’ve not been allowed to speak yet vie for his attention, yelling to be called on for follow up. He takes a few more questions from the insatiable group, trying to steer the conversation back to legislation, before Raven Darkholme, his Chief of Staff, swoops in to rescue him.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. That’s all we have time for today. Thank you so much for coming out. We’ll do this again soon.”

They exit stage right to desperate cries of _Senator! Senator! One more question!_

Raven taps at her ever-present tablet, heels clicking sharply against marble floors as they walk down the hall and around the corner to Erik’s Capitol Hill office. Once inside, he loosens his tie and drops heavily into his desk chair while Raven sits daintily in the guest chair across from him.

“#Mutie4Prez is already trending in the top twenty. Nice.”

Erik sighs. It’s his own fault. This was supposed to be about the bill. They’d even prefaced the press conference with a tweet, embedding the online broadcast and asking his followers to tweet and retweet with the twitter tag #EqualJustice4All. It had been gaining moderate traction until Erik inadvertently kamikazed his own messaging.

This has been going on for months, kicked off by a seemingly innocuous tweet of a promotional poster for _Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter_ with Erik’s face photoshopped onto the body of the lead actor. Given that the movie is pure b-list campiness, featuring one of America’s most pivotal presidents on a roaring rampage of revenge against the Undead, Erik hadn’t anticipated the frenzy and speculation his simple ‘like’ of the photo manipulation would generate.

“How many times do we have to tell them I’m not running?” he asks, reaching for the stack of manila folders on his desk. He flips through the requests for co-sponsorship from lawmakers looking to capitalize on Erik’s charisma, youthful energy, and general appeal with certain voting blocks to help sell people on their ideas.

Raven smiles mischievously at his exasperation. “They’re just excited. It’s a sexy idea. Fresh blood with new ideas instead of the same boring, old fogies who might croak at any moment. Besides, you should be used to this by now.”

He huffs a small laugh in surrender. She’s right. Ever since winning his first elected position, he’s been either one of the youngest ‘x’ ever or the first mutant ‘x’ ever. And the press loves it. When he first made Councilman at twenty-one, the local paper ran a story about how he went to college classes on Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays and council meetings on Tuesday and Thursdays. Raven, who was just a friend and a fellow Poli-Sci major back then, actually framed the side by side photos of him in jeans and a t-shirt at study group and in dress shirt and slacks amongst councilmen easily three times his age. The frame still hangs in his office now next to his university degree.

When he was elected to the New York House of Representatives at twenty-seven, Vanity Fair invited him to do a short day-in-the-life video that went viral. Not long after being sworn in as a senator at thirty-one years and twenty-one days old, he was featured on the covers of Men’s Fitness and GQ, earning him no small amount of ribbing from his new colleagues. But the media and the public seem enamored by the idea of a millennial Congressman, part of the up and coming generation, young enough to still be in step with pop culture.

It’s usually fun, but as of late, it’s starting to wear thin.

“As lovely a thought as ‘President Lehnsherr’ is, I can’t wait for it to die down so I can focus on this reform bill,” he grouses crankily.

“It’ll run its course,” Raven assures him.

* * *

But it doesn’t. If anything, it takes on a life of its own, a candidacy by popular demand chugging full steam ahead without the consent of the candidate. The Internet seems determined to will him into the Oval Office, one meme at a time, whether he wants it or not.

Professionally, Erik is focused on his bill. He’s pleased by the progress they’ve made so far. The legislation has cleared both the House and Senate judiciary committee votes and will soon be brought up on the House floor for debate. It should be a potential feather in his cap, the key talking point of all the political pundits. But instead, all they want to speculate on is whether he’ll throw his hat in the ring. On a day-to-day basis, his e-mail is jammed with people interested in spearheading grassroot support campaigns, his social media accounts are inundated with #Mutie4Prez and #Lehnsherr2020 replies no matter what he posts about, and it’s all the press corps wants to talk about any time they can get within twenty feet of him. Starting to be more annoyed than amused, he keeps waving it off as nonsensical. Until Bill broaches the topic.

Bill Dodson is the senior senator for the state of New York. He’s a stout man, just shy of six-feet-tall, sporting a head full of thick, silvery white hair with a neatly cropped goatee to match who smells of oak barrels. At seventy years old, he’s been proudly serving his constituents for twenty years and shows no signs of slowing down. He loves working for New York and New York loves him right back. The day after Erik was sworn in, still a little shocked he’d won on his first try, Bill took him out for lunch at a hole-in-the-wall barbecue joint that the man clearly frequented often and offered to show Erik the ropes if he was interested. Sensing a potential mentor, Erik cautiously accepted, one of the best decisions he made in those early days. Since then, at least once a month, Bill opens his home, a beautiful, sprawling neo-Tudor estate in Scarsdale, and they have an informal Senatorial Calibration meeting. Bill’s lovely wife Beverly, the very image of a 1950s house-omega down to the pearls and kitten heels and the smell of sweet cream, usually prepares them a hearty, home cooked meal like roast beef and mashed potatoes or beef tips and rice before ‘leaving the men to talk’ in Bill’s den-cum-study.

Tonight, they’ve run the gambit of topics. Personal things such as new restaurants they’ve tried, new people they’ve met, and the most recent movie they’ve seen. Political things including policy they’re interested, potential bills that have been mentioned to them, and the direction they’d like to see their party and the country as a whole to move in. If a decanter of whiskey makes its way into their parley, who’s the wiser?

Bill’s a fantastic guiding hand, thrilled to help develop Erik who he views as a member of the next political generation. Best of all, he’s never expressed a moment’s hesitation or concern over Erik’s personal and professional investment in how legislation affects mutants. Instead, the man seems to take genuine joy in challenging Erik to consider New York as the enormous pack they have the honor of protecting and progressing forward, mutant and baseline alike, while also looking out for the wellbeing of their forty-nine nearby neighboring packs, and being aware of how their choices effect hundreds of other faraway packs, some friendly, others adversarial. He’s helped Erik learn to play the game, to navigate around implicit and explicit prejudices regarding his age, his religion, and his mutant status to advance bills and motions that will meet the needs of the people of New York and America. Erik could not be more grateful for the guidance and still looks forward to these get togethers.

“So,” Bill says when their discussion reaches a natural lull, “I know the line you’ve been giving the newshounds. But I’m curious to hear your true thoughts. Have you given any real consideration to making a run? For President?”

Erik is taken aback, stunned into silence. For months, asking him about running has been a fun game for the press and social media, an ongoing competition for headlines and soundbites to sell papers and get likes, clicks, and retweets. But Bill is a straight shooter who always thinks long and hard before he speaks. It’s a trait that makes his political opinion worth its weight in gold or maybe even vibranium.

Not sure where to even start, Erik takes a careful sip of vintage whiskey, stalling for time to think.

“I… I’ve only been in the Senate for a little over two years, not even half my term,” he finally says. “I can’t start campaigning for a new job when I’ve barely scratched the surface of the one I’ve got. My constituents will think I used them as a stepping stone.”

He takes pride in his commitment to service. He spent six years as a city Councilman, earning a reputation as a community advocate, a reformer who champions the people normally ignored by traditional politicians. That was followed by two highly successful terms in the state House of Representatives where he was hailed as a Pitbull when it came to pursuing the needs of his home District. But despite his hard work, he wouldn’t be here at the national level without the dozens of grassroot groups across the state that had fundraised and campaigned tirelessly, pushing voter registration drives and Get out the Vote initiatives to get him elected. These groups were founded by grossly underrepresented segments of the voting population and worked with and for him with the expectation that he’d give them the voice they’ve never had in Congress. Wouldn’t it be an unforgivable slap in their faces to abandon his post when he’s only begun to address their concerns?

“You still have nearly a year before you have to declare your intentions _if_ you decide you want to run and another year after that before primary season hits in full strength. That’s four good years of service.”

“No, that’s two years of the full attention they deserve and two years of high-level distraction,” Erik points out tersely. “Many of my voters voted for me _specifically_ because they want a young Mutant voice in the Senate that can be re-elected again and again for decades. Why should they reward me for leaving early?”

“Your constituents love you,” Bill counters. “You have an eighty-two percent approval rate which is all but unheard of. I’m not pretending it’ll be easy, but I’m pretty sure your base will forgive you if you take their Mutant voice out of Congress and put it in the White House.”

Erik bites the inside of his cheek. While he works on behalf of _all_ of his constituents, he’s aware of his unique status as a symbol and a role model for millions of Americans who rarely see themselves represented in leadership before. He’s not the first known-Mutant to serve in Congress; that ceiling had been broken nearly a decade before he was born. But he’s currently the only one in the Senate and one of only two dozen in Congress as a whole. It’s hard-earned representation, and if he gives up the seat, it could be years, maybe even decades before a known-Mutant holds it again.

On the other hand, if he succeeds, it would mean more than any of them have ever dared to imagine, himself included. To date, there have been exactly fifteen known-Mutants in the White House. Of course, not as President or Vice-President, but in the Presidential Cabinet. A well-intentioned gesture to their community from the incoming President. But the ‘lucky’ person is always the sole mutant and always serves as the Secretary of Mutant Affairs, a largely ceremonial department created in the late sixties, regardless of their experience or field of expertise. He could change that, throw the proverbial doors open…

“But the Primaries…,” Erik says softly, letting hesitation and uncertainty coat his tone, even as he starts to puzzle out how it might actually be possible. “There would be attacks from both parties about how young I am, how inexperienced, how…”

Bill holds up a hand. “Erik. There’d be attacks even if you were thirty years older with the experience to match. I get accused of being too old, too entrenched in the ‘establishment’. We can prepare, figure out strong counter-attacks. Here’s an easier question: do you _want_ to be President?”

Erik takes a deep breath, really letting himself entertain the idea in-depth for the first time. “Yes?”

Bill barks with laughter, pearly teeth gleaming in the lamp light. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

Slightly overwhelmed, Erik chuckles back, rubbing his neck. “I… _Yes_ , but…”

That hand goes up again. “I have a yes. Now, the things that are going to follow that ‘but’, did any of them stop you from being a city councilman, a state legislator, or a senator or keep you from doing your job well once you got there?”

“No, but…”

Bill laughs again.

“You and your buts…” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Do you love this country?”

“Of course!” Erik replies without hesitation. It might have its flaws, but there are painfully few other places where the life he enjoys would even be possible.

“Can you put the needs of this country and its constituency ahead of your own?”

“Yes,” Erik says, his confidence growing.

“Do you whole-heartedly believe you could make this country a better place if you had a broader platform to do so?”

“Yes!”

Bill smiles, a satisfied grin. “Then, son, I think you’re running for President.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: So, throughout the story, I’ll drop notes here, sharing my thoughts as I was writing the story.
> 
> I like the idea of Erik and Raven being a badass political team. The original X-Men trilogy show they're both very efficient together and that they have no issue with injecting themselves into the political machinery of the country to protect Mutants. This story just has their efforts a little more on the up and up.
> 
> In the second half of the story, we meet Bill and Bev, minor recurring characters. They have very traditional scents. Bill smells like aged oak, like the whiskey men would’ve drank in men-only social clubs in his hay day. Bev smells like sweet cream, a common ingredient in cooking desserts. Additionally, my mental picture of Bill is Ron Perlman.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later, the first meeting of the not-yet-official Erik Lehnsherr Presidential Exploratory Committee convenes in Erik’s townhome. Limited to Bill, Erik, Raven, and Moira MacTaggert, a friend of Bill who’s apparently a skilled behind-the-scenes political operative, they’re gathered in his guestroom-turned-office for a preliminary brainstorming of a potential candidacy. Moira is at the smartboard installed on the wall that faces Erik’s desk. Bill and Raven are seated on the small couch that sits perpendicular to Moira’s position, Bill with an old school notepad and pen while Raven has her customary tablet and a stylus at the ready. Erik himself is seated behind his desk, hands empty save for a few small pieces of metal to help him focus fully. He has complete faith that Raven’s meeting notes will be meticulously detailed if he wants or needs to go back over anything later.

“I’d first like to thank you all for inviting me today,” Moira begins with a pleasant smile. “I know you’re nowhere near making an official declaration, but these initial days are crucial and I’m honored to play even a small part in all of this. That being said, we’ve got serious work to do.”

She turns to Erik.

“You’ll find that my role on this team is to be brutally honest, to make sure you never get too far ahead of yourself, and to make sure we don’t get blindsided or swift boated,” she says. “With that in mind, I’ve dug as deep as I can to make sure I know everything a person like me could possibly find to potentially dox and destroy you.”

Erik raises a brow at that, not quite sure if he’s being subtly threatened. But he stays silent, letting her continue.

“Now, I know that sounds ominous and maybe a little creepy, but don’t take it the wrong way. What I mean is that you’re an atypical presidential candidate politics. It would only take a few well-timed jabs to take you down early if we aren’t prepared. So, we have to look at every aspect of your life, both personal and professional, from every possible angle to figure out how it could help or harm you in a campaign.”

Nervous but reassured, he nods his agreement.

She taps on her tablet and some images appear the smartboard.

“First up is the Big Picture, the general public perception of you. If the average Joe Q. Public on the street is asked to describe you, what would they say? To get a feel for it, I scoured social media.”

On the screen are search queries for his name on Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter, and several other social media platforms centered on user-generated content. She scrolls through some of it. While there is the expected smattering of complaints about very specific actions he’s taken or failed to take legislatively, the majority is overwhelmingly positive.

“One thing is clear: New Yorkers love you,” Moira says. “Or they’re infatuated with you at least. No big surprise. On top of being good at your job, you’re young, traditionally handsome, and the only mutant senator in Congress from the state with the highest mutant population in the entire country. Those factors alone make you a shoe-in for re-election here at home. Our challenge lies in figuring out how to spread that love to the electorate as a whole.”

She taps a finger to board and a bright green check mark appears on the board.

“Social Media will definitely be one of your advantages. Raven is already doing a great job of leveraging the platforms to connect you with the public in a way that makes them feel like they’re getting to know the ‘real you.’ We can also use this to build strong inroads with highly vocal groups with traditional low turnout rates. To succeed, we’re going to have to mobilize the 18-29 crowd to the polls nationwide at unprecedented rates. At your age, that should be much easier to pull off without the whole ‘How do you do, my fellow teens?’ vibe.”

Raven is nodding along, making notes. They discuss contacting the already established national GOTV organizations, touching base with the more local options they’ve previously worked with, and consider how they can create their own campaign-specific voter registration efforts. They also spend time brainstorming ways to subtly increase post engagement using polls, videos, memes, and the like.

“Ok. Next is Mainstream Media. Television and new stories have a huge sway over public opinion so I searched the major sites to see what type of stories the most popular networks and big-name papers run about you in the past. It’s important to know what a potential voter will see if they Google you.”

She brings up a set of headlines:

_State Delegate Lehnsherr Elected to Senate: Youngest, First Mutant for New York_

_Stryker to Lehnsherr: We Don’t Need Your Mutie Politics_

_Majority of State Voters Approve of Hodge’s Anti-Mutant Stance_

_Senator Lehnsherr Co-Sponsors Medicare, Medicaid Legislation; Urges Inclusion of Mutant Services_

_General Essex to Congress: Mutant Rights Amendment is a threat to National Security_

_Lehnsherr Proposes Creation of Sub-Committee to Research Additional Support for Mutants Suffering Addiction amidst Nationwide Opioid Crisis_

“These articles are either specifically about you or heavily mentioned you or legislation you’ve proposed,” Moira explains. “As you can see, the same thing that make you popular in your home state makes voters in other parts of the country oppose you out of pure spite. For a presidential run, we have to prepare for states like Montana, Wyoming, and the Dakotas with almost no mutant population and the Bible Belt states with low Mutant tolerance.”

She taps the screen and a new set of headlines appear, these gushing about Erik but more for his social life rather than his political moves.

“While the local papers around the country can be hit or miss depending on the city or state, the nationally-syndicated media can’t get enough of you.”

She pulls up a pair of headlines:

_The Man, The Mutant, The New Millennia: All Eyes are on Erik Lehnsherr_

_Lehnsherr’s Senate Bid is the First Real Battle between Millennials and the Political Old Guard_

“They generally cast you as a millennial David vs Boomer Goliath, which we can definitely work with. But we have to walk the line. The flipside of all that gushing is a lot of articles that portray you as relatively inexperienced, unproven, and perhaps a bit of a showboat.”

A flick of her finger brings up Op-Eds written by some of his past opponents and political rivals. They deride his lack of experience and accuse him of being a celebrity senator, in it for the fame and fortune.

“As you can see, that’s definitely the line of attack your detractors tend to favor. With you jumping from the Senate to the presidential platform so quickly, these are going to hit even harder. So, we have to have a game plan.”

They spend the next hour dissecting every political attack that’s ever been used against him, considering what did and didn’t work from all angles, thinking of ways to offset these political jabs with action or appropriate responses to make the accusations sound petty and unfounded.

After they’re satisfied with their initial strategy, Moira moves them to her next point of focus.

“Ok. So, perception is extremely important and that includes perceptions of your political efficacy. Voters have to feel like you keep your word. To win the presidency, you’re going to have to make some big promises to a lot of different voting blocks, so we want to be able to show them you have a track record of following through.”

They work to compile an analysis of campaign promises he’s made, going all the way back to campaigning for Councilman, and legislation he proposed and passed regarding those promises. They also consider how to spin the examples where he was unable to follow through due to Congressional opposition, strategizing to show that he’d at least tried and follow up efforts to achieve some measure of the goal. It’s tedious and the kind of thing he’d pass of to his staff-at-large once they’re ready to declare, but in the end, it’s nice to see a reminder of how much he’s actually been able to do over the life of his political career so far.

“I think we’re on the right track,” Moira says as she pushes a fork through her carton of fried rice they’d ordered an hour ago. “But there’s one last thing we have to figure out.”

Erik looks up from his own chow mien, giving her a curious look.

“Perceived weaknesses. Most of yours we can easily spin them as strengths or downplay their importance to the big picture, but there are a few things we have to tackle.”

Setting down her rice, she taps the screen and three circles come up.

“Age,” she says as the first circle fills in with the word. “We’ve talked about this as a strength in relation to technology and social media, but it’s a double-edged sword. To keep it from becoming a weakness, the focus should always be on highlighting that despite your relative youth, you actually have thirteen years of solid political experience, which may possibly more than your competitors who will likely be older but may have started later in life.”

Erik nods. “Agreed.”

“Mutant status,” Moira says, filling in the next circle.

“Mutant and proud,” Erik interjects firmly, shaping and reshaping the small bits of metal he’s been playing with through the meeting. Raven echoes him from her spot on the couch, letting her skin ripple blue then back to her usual appearance.

“Understood,” Moira says, not the least bit unkindly. “And again, this makes you an extremely strong candidate at the local level. But make no mistake. It _will_ be used against you in a National campaign. We’re not going to shy away from it, but it’s also important to make sure Mutant advocacy doesn’t overtake your general election messaging. We don’t want ‘Mutant and Proud’ to become your unofficial slogan. There are people who are afraid of the growth of the mutant population and what that means for baselines in the long run. Your opponents will gleefully seize on that fear and your popularity with Mutants to question your intentions and your suitability to lead.”

“I think we should hammer how your legislation voting record has equitably balanced pro-mutant policies with policies that are good for America overall,” Bill says. “We’ll also make sure to point out that your parents were both baselines. It’s not like you were raised in some radical Mutant commune or anything.”

Erik hums. He gets along fine with baselines, even considers a few of them close friends. But he can remember a time when an all-Mutant community sounded like the perfect panacea. He’s grown since then, enough to recognize it as a pointless pipe dream. But sometimes when he’s clashing with clearly anti-Mutant, pro-baseline Senators, the thought still crosses his mind, if for no other reason than to keep a fancy pen from flying across the room.

“We also need to woodshed and fine tune the response you’ll give when someone inevitably asks if Mutants will someday be in the Majority and what that means for the country,” Moira adds, blissfully unaware of the direction of Erik’s thoughts. “Regardless of what you truly think, the answer has to be something that polls well in the here and now.”

“I’ll pull up some of the Op-Eds from the pro-baseline groups and create some debate points,” Raven volunteers.

“Perfect,” Moira says, tapping a plus sign on that circle and adding a note about Raven’s plans. “And finally, religion. Now, I’m not sure how observant you are—”

“Not very,” Erik interrupts.

“Noted,” she responds, scribbling a note with her stylus. “Looking through your past press conferences and ceremonies, you never mention your faith, but you’ve always used a Torah for your swearing-in ceremony.”

Erik nods.

“The truly devout would say I’m more _frei_ than _frum_ ,” he admits with a chagrined laugh. “More secular than pious, so I wouldn’t depend on the Orthodox vote. I lapsed a long time ago, but I still consider my faith an important part of who I am. I don’t play it up, but I won’t hide it either.”

“That’s fair enough,” Bill says. “As a rule of thumb, Protestants fare much better politically, but at least we don’t have to be trailblazers here. JFK laid the groundwork.”

“He charmed the pants off this country,” Raven says.

“That he did,” Bill replies with a nostalgic grin. “Only ever saw him on TV, but I don’t think there’s ever been a more charismatic politician.”

“Which leads us to my final point,” Moira says smoothly. “Part of the way JFK razzle dazzled people away from his ‘short-comings’ was by being a bond-mated family man with a lovely wife and absolutely adorable kids. You, on the other hand…”

She pulls up Twitter and types in ‘Senator Sexy.’

Erik groans, already having an idea where this is headed. Generally, typing his actual name into the search bar brings back fairly sedate results, but there’s a thirstier, hidden side of the platform that adores him for completely different reasons.

Moira scrolls past picture after picture of him. They run the full gamut of propriety or lack thereof. Some are professionally shot, others clearly snuck when Erik was unaware. There are more formal pictures from special events where he’s in a tuxedo and day-to-day photos where he’s dressed in a suit for Congressional meetings. Others are far more casual, where he’s out and about town in every day wear. There are three extremely popular photos of him at the beach headed into the surf and making his way out that appear over and over again in thousands of posts. The captions on those are enough to make him blush and hope he never meets any of those people in real life.

“And this is why this country doesn’t elect unmated Presidents. Too much potential for distraction and scandal.”

That’s not really fair. He’s never actually _done_ anything scandalous. He’s been completely above board his entire political career. Can he really be expected to control the thoughts and reactions of people he doesn’t even know?

“Those posts are beyond my control. And we _have_ had an unmated president. He—” Erik starts.

“He served one term, there were constantly rumors about his sexuality, the country refused to elect his handpicked successor, and the Civil War started mere months after he left office,” Moira says sharply. “ _His_ is definitely not the battle plan we want to follow.”

Erik closes his mouth, chastened.

“Age is already one of your vulnerable points,” she reminds him. “Combine that with your being unmated and the fact that you don’t have any pups, the coveted 65+ voter block is going to see you as nothing but a wet behind the ears whelp.”

“It’s going to be hard for them to see you as a leader they should follow when most of them have children and maybe even grandchildren older than you are,” Bill chimes in. “They want life experience they can relate to and right now you don’t have any.”

“We can’t age any faster,” Moira continues. “You’re a known-mutant and nothing will change that. And you’re not interested in hiding your religious affiliation or converting. So, the one thing we can do is get you bond-mated.”

“Get me _what_?” Erik says, the metal he’s been manipulating clanking down onto his desk.

“If we start working on it now, no one will blink an eye at it by the time you’re ready to officially declare, and it’ll be old news by the time Primaries kick off,” Moira continues as if Erik never spoke.

“It would have to be somebody vetted to hell and back,” Bill says.

“And they’d need to already be well acquainted with high society. There’s no time for _My Fair Lady_.”

Moira taps on her tablet and a directory of pictures appears on the screen. She pulls up a filter and she and Bill start negotiating parameters to narrow down their choices.

“This is insane. I can’t just bond-mate with some random stranger! Who does that?” Erik sputters.

Moira tuts at him. “I assure you most of the married politicians you’ve ever worked with who are bonded have bond-mates carefully curated by their families. High society has been doing arranged bond-mating for hundreds of years. What do you think Deb and Beau balls are for?”  
It’s an excuse to throw lavish parties and an opportunity to find the highest quality mate possible,” Bill concurs. “Bev and I didn’t bump into each other at a coffee shop and fall in love at first sight. Our parents had been planning it since we presented.”

“The only reason we’re be hush-hush about it is because it’s beyond tacky to advertise that you’re arranging a bond-mate solely for the purpose of pursuing a political office,” Moira wryly. “They’ve all done it, but it’s taboo to say the quiet part loud.”

Erik looks at the screen, trying to wrap his head around this new information. He’s not sure he even wants to know how they got their hands on a compilation of eligible, politically unproblematic, bachelor omegas. As far as he knew, his parents had mated for love. But Moira, Bill, and even Raven were all raised in high society. Erik wasn’t. Best he could remember, as he’d approached presentation age, his mother had started to drop hints that the Temple would soon be a place to court a potential mate. But then...

Erik shakes his head and forces the thought away.

Picking up his metal pieces and working them like worry stones, he looks over at Raven who shrugs, signaling she had nothing to do with this and it’s up to him to stop it if it’s too much.

“Okay, I’ve pared it down to people your age, five years younger or less,” Moira says. “I figured it best not to do older since we’re trying to draw attention away from your age. What other preferences do you have?”

Erik looks at the result screen that currently says it’s showing one through fifteen of five hundred and twenty-seven potential results.

“I’m not sure about this,” he says slowly. “Bill…”

The man sighs.

“I know it’s a lot, but this will strengthen you as a candidate, I promise. People have been receptive to you as an unmarried Councilman, State Delegate, and even as a Senator, because those are all positions where you cut your teeth. But the President? He has to be steady and ready from Day One. You have a lot of factors that you’re asking them to take a gamble on. This is one way to show them you’re decisive, committed, and a good judge of character.”

“I assure you we’ll work to find someone you genuinely like,” Moira says, “and in time, you may actually grow to love them. But this is a make or break decision. If you’re not ready, we can circle back next election cycle. You’ll be forty. It’s young, but nearly twenty percent of our presidents served in their forties. It’ll be an easier sale.”

“But then people will wonder why you’re in your forties and still not mated…” Bill adds glibly. “So, we could very well end up right back here.”

Erik thinks about it, long and hard.

He doesn’t consider himself to be a romantic. He was never one to create handmade trinkets to give omegas or bring extra sweets in hopes that someone would accept his tributes. But if he’s honest, he’d always assumed when and if he bonded, it would be for love. Still, he can’t imagine putting this on the backburner in hopes that True Love will come along after thirty-five fickle years. The thought of a little Cupid finally aiming his bow nearly makes Erik snort.

“Okay. Fine,” he grumbles.

Moira perks up. “Continuing on! What’s next?”

“Filter out the men,” Bill answers. “If we pair him with a female omega, we can capture a wider audience of men, women, Alphas, and omegas, and really capitalize on the whole ‘x want him, y want to be him.’”

Moira shakes her head with a little frown. “I think we’re going in the other direction, filter out the women to keep the tabloids at bay.”

“The tabloids?” Raven asks, perking up.

Bill tuts his tongue, clearly chagrined at having been out-strategized.

“If you’re okay with it, I’d second having a male,” he says. “At your age, if you’re paired with a female omega, people will constantly derail your pressers with ‘Why don’t you have pups?’, ‘When are you going to have pups?’, ‘Is that a baby bump?’”

Moira nods, indicating Bill is on the right track. “Whereas everyone knows that it’s notoriously difficult for male omegas to pup and it’s considered extremely rude to even ask.”

“They’ll still ask,” Bill interjects, “but you won’t seem nearly as rude or evasive when you say it’s a personal matter than you’re not willing to discuss.”

“So, are you okay with a man?” Moira asks, finger hovering over her tablet.

“Yes, that’s fine,” Erik says.

While he’s traditionally preferred women, his gender preference is much more flexible than his designation preference. He’s only been with another man once, but it was pleasant and he’s open to a repeat of the experience. He can’t imagine being with a beta or another Alpha. That thought makes his skin crawl a little bit.

“But be aware, I haven’t been with a man since high school and that was more experimentation than a relationship, so it might flag as unusual if a reporter goes digging,” he adds.

Moira nods and makes a note. She taps at the screen removing anyone who is not a male omega, age thirty to thirty-five.

That brings their list down to one and forty-six potential candidates.

“Any other preferences, Lehnsherr?” Bill asks.

Erik shrugs, rubs a hand against the back of his neck. “I guess I prefer to be taller than my partner… But I don’t want to _tower_ over them.”

Moira taps a few buttons. “One hundred and twelve potential candidates between five-foot-four and five-foot-eleven. Anything else?”

Erik bites his lip, trying to ignore how weird this all is. “Can it tell if they like to watch a lot of TV?”

Moira nods and taps. “Fifty-two candidates left.”

“No, flip it the other way. I want the people who don’t watch a lot of TV.”

Moira makes a thoughtful face as she flips the result. “Sixty candidates left. What else? Blonde? Brunette? Blue eyes? Green eyes?”

Erik shrugs. His type is probably best described as ‘I know it when I see it.’

Moira thankfully seems to sense he’s hit his limit for publicly dissecting what he finds physically attractive in a potential mate.

“Ok. Let’s split the remaining profiles. Read the questionnaires and drag the profile numbers of anyone you don’t think would be a good fit to the ‘No’ column on the left of the screen. Put potentials in the ‘Maybe’ column on the right.”

Raven pulls two extra tablets out of only-she-knows-where, handing one to Bill and one to Erik. Moira airdrops a portion of profiles onto each tablet.

Erik’s already put seven out of his fifteen profiles into the ‘No’ column and is reading about a thirty-three-year-old omega who is a passionate flautist, can trace his roots back to the Mayflower, and has won several world dressage competitions when Raven speaks up.

“You know who’d be perfect for this? Charles.”

“Charles?” Bill parrots.

“My brother,” she clarifies. “He’s an omega and he comes from old money. High Society P’s and Q’s would be a cakewalk from him.”

“You never mentioned you were from a storied family,” Bill says with interest.

“Well, technically I’m not,” Raven says. “I’m adopted. But my brother is blue-blooded, through and through. Charles Francis Xavier of the Westchester Xaviers.”

Moira raises both eyebrows, impressed. “Wow. Ok. Well, it would definitely be nice to have a known quantity to work with. Do you have a picture?”

Raven nods and taps at her tablet for a few moments. Then several pictures of the omega in question appear on the screen.

“He’s boy-next-door handsome in the way the media loves. His mother was a socialite on both sides of the pond so he brings built-in good will to the table. And he’s in academia, so the biggest scandal he’s probably ever had is maybe a bit too much to drink at a bar in his undergrad days.”

“He does have the look,” Bill admits.

Erik studies the picture with interest. The omega is medium height with a slim build. He has a face that is masculine but still softly rounded the way omegas often are. His most striking feature are piercing blue eyes and soft brown hair swept back away from his face. Erik has no way of telling whether they would be compatible, but he definitely finds the man attractive.

Using the template of one of the dating questionnaires she’d been reviewing, Raven gives her best overview of what her brother’s responses would most likely be.

“Okay. Let’s play devil’s advocate,” Moira says. “If I were trying to take Erik down because of his association with Charles, what would I use?”

Raven looks at the picture of her brother, thinking for a moment.

“He has a British accent, very posh sounding.”

“Might not play well with the Midwestern or the less educated demographic,” Moira offers.

“And he has dual-citizenship. U.S. and U.K.,” Raven follows up. “He was born here and has lived Stateside since he was seven, but he went to college in the U.K.”

Bill mulls the information before offering an attack.

“There may be accusations of indoctrination or secret loyalty to a foreign nation,” he says.

“Would he give up the dual-citizenship?” Moira asks.

Raven wrinkles her nose slightly, then shakes her head. “I don’t think so. He likes that his U.K. passport can get him places his American passport can’t.”

“Places like?”

“Like Latveria.”

Bill and Moira look up, eyes wide.

“Raven. Please tell me that your brother hasn’t been to Latveria,” Moira says, clearly dreading the answer.

“No! Of course not,” Raven assures her. “But he likes the idea that he _could_ if he wanted.”

Moira takes a relieved breath.

“Good. Anything else?” Moira asks.

“He’s Mutant.”

That makes Erik perk up. Bill and Moira will likely push for a baseline omega to further normalize Erik and minimize questions about his allegiances. But now that it’s been brought up, he can admit he’d prefer a Mutant mate.

“He sounds worth a try,” Erik says, speaking up for the first time since Charles has been introduced as a potential bond-mate. 

Bill sighs, shaking his head. “It’s a nonstarter. We’re looking to make _you_ more palatable. Can’t do that with another Mutant.”

Moira tilts her head, her lips thinning as she stares critically at Charles’ photo.

“If Erik is interested, then we’ll make it work,” Moira says, then nods her head firmly, turning to look at the group. “Yeah. If we frame it as ‘Mutants are just like everyone else’, present them as having a stable, loving relationship just like any baseline couple, and then balance the ticket with an older, baseline, Protestant Vice-President with a ton of political experience who’s been mated to a baseline spouse for decades. What’s his power?”

“Telepathy.”

Bill throws his hands up, a tad dramatically in Erik’s opinion. He’d be a bit offended if he didn’t know that Bill has never shown the slightest hint of Mutant bigotry and is more frustrated with an additional complication to their already convoluted plan.

“A freakin’ mind reader?” Bill says incredulously. Then he turns to Moira who had previously overridden his decision with an exasperated look that all but screams ‘How are we going to get past that?’

Moira doesn’t immediately say anything.

“The other side will blow a gasket,” Bill points out. “They’ll accuse him of reading their minds for an advantage.”

“We don’t have to tell them!” Raven points out sharply. “Charles wouldn’t be the one running for office.”

“They’re a packaged deal. That’s the point of all this,” Bill rebuts. “And if you get caught in a lie that big, there’s no coming back from it. It’d be the biggest scandal in modern American political history and it would set Mutant Rights back decades.”

“I know that!” Raven snaps.

Bill holds his hands in placation. “Fine. I just want to make sure you’ve really considered the potential consequences of hiding something this big on the most scrutinized stage in the free world.”

“Charles would never use his powers to cheat. He’s such a boy scout it’s disgusting,” Raven insists.

“He doesn’t have to actually do it,” Bill points out. “All it would take is someone finding out the truth and convincing the right people that he has or that he would.”

“Well, no one else even knows he’s a telepath.”

Moira considers. “Absolutely nobody else?”

“You’d be willing to bet all of our careers on it?” Bill pushes.

Raven nods, seemingly confident. “We’d have to confirm with him, but I’m almost one hundred percent certain. He’s always presented himself as an empath, getting a general vibe of people’s general feelings rather than their actual thoughts. It’s meant to keep him safe from people that would want to use him.”

Bill gives a resigned sigh and looks at Moira.

“It’s Erik’s call,” she says.

“Will your brother even do it?” Erik asks. After all, his decision means nothing if Charles isn’t actually receptive to the idea.

Now Raven shrugs, less certain.

“Maybe. He generally doesn’t like the spotlight, but with the right motivation, I think he would.”

“Motivation such as?”

“I don’t know,” Raven says, shrugging again. “But I can set up a get together for you two to test your bond chemistry and hash it out details about how to go from there. What do you say?”

Erik rakes a hand through his hair, then glances at his companions who are awaiting his decision with practically baited breath. He’d known when they arrived that he’d be making some monumental decisions tonight, but this…

He looks at Charles’ photo one more time and thinks it over. The worst that could happen is an awkward meeting that results in them deciding this is all too ridiculous. Or he might get a new bond-mate.

There’s only one way to find out which it’ll be.

“Go for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Politically, Erik is modeled after JFK. In canon, Erik expresses a degree of admiration for Kennedy so I thought it would be a good match. Erik has many of the same real-life political weaknesses Kennedy had to overcome. 
> 
> Latveria (not to be confused with real life Latvia) is home of Supreme Lord Doctor Victor Von Doom.
> 
> The bachelor president of questionable sexual orientation they’re referring to is none other than James Buchanan. The namesake for Bucky…
> 
> [Picture of Charles](http://cdn02.cdn.justjared.com/wp-content/uploads/headlines/2010/01/james-mcavoy-last-station.jpg)   
>  [Senator Sexy](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b3/bd/3e/b3bd3e18612e40b67694f6f68d1fd690.png)


	3. Chapter 3

“I beg your pardon. Can you repeat that, please?” Charles asks incredulously, pushing himself into the upright position, positive he must’ve misunderstood.

They’re in his living room, sprawled across his overstuffed sofa, the end credits to _The Great British Bake Off_ rolling across the flat screen TV. Raven called not long after he got home from work, checking to see if he was available for ‘a little catch up time with my bro.’ Charles had gladly accepted. Her work keeps her incredibly busy and as a result they can go fairly long stretches without seeing each other in person. Changing into soft lounge pants and a worn tee, he’d cued up Netflix while he waited. Raven showed up with chicken biryani and potato masala from his favorite Indian place, just as the Patisserie Week episode began. They watched together, eating their takeout and roundly critiquing the minor missteps of bakers far more proficient than either Charles or Raven could ever hope to be.

Moments after the judges have named Star Baker and sent off the unlucky baker who failed to wow them, Raven produced a stack of folders, and turned to him a sudden nervousness so strong it had made Charles nearly nauseated with second-hand nerves.

_My boss needs a bond mate ASAP and I think you’d be the perfect match._

Now, he’s staring at her like she has two heads. Actually, professionally speaking, a two-headed person would be quite welcomed, particularly if each head had its own distinct personality. He’d love to meet someone like that. Instead, he has a one-headed sister asking him to bond with her boss as though it’s only a minor fuss akin to asking him to stop off for a box of tampons on his way over to hers or bring her a roll of tissue from the pantry because she sat on the toilet before realizing the supply in her bathroom was out.

“I swear, he’s very nice and ridiculously handsome. You two would meet, see if you have bond chemistry, and if so, work out a mutual agreement,” she explains with the wily mannerisms of someone trying to sneak away with an inch, an ell, and the whole damned mile.

Charles looking from her to the thick manila folders and back again.

“Raven, you can’t be serious.”

“I am,” she says with a completely straight face.

He waits silently, half-expecting her to crack into a wide grin, laugh, and try to muss his hair like when they were kids. But, no. Even without actively reaching out for her mind, he can feel how badly she wants him to agree to this.

“This is utterly preposterous,” he finally says with an exasperated sigh. “We’re not talking about me tagging along on a double date so your boyfriend’s roommate doesn’t feel like an awkward third wheel. You’re literally asking me to mate a complete stranger. One who’s a well-known public figure, which means that by proxy everything about me would be fair game. No, thank you.”

He tries to hand the folders back, but she refuses to accept them, hands up so he can’t make the handoff. He plops them in her lap instead.

She huffs. “I know you’re not exactly a fan of hobnobbing, but this could be a really good thing for you.”

He raises a skeptical brow. “I don’t mind hobnobbing. It’s the vicious gossiping and the endless lying that I can’t stand. That’s one of the reasons I chose to leave Westchester. _This_ would be a hundred times worse.”

The Xaviers hadn’t been famous in the traditional sense, but Brian Xavier, a brilliant scientist, had frequently been appointed to prestigious research committees, think tanks, and leadership boards by the governor and the President. Through his work, the American branch of the already well-off family flourished, gaining even more wealth and a great deal of political connections and social standing in revered circles. It made them the kind of family people loved to speculate about. Fair or not, they were expected to have nothing less than a perfectly charmed existence. His father’s untimely death had cracked that veneer and drawn vultures far and wide, infatuated by a potential collapse of the ‘House of Xavier’ or whatever narrative they’d devised in their heads to justify their bloodthirsty behavior. It only worsened after his mother’s death by bottle just a few years later. When offered the chance to study abroad at Oxford, he’d eagerly accepted, grateful for an opportunity to escape the unending scrutiny for a while.

“Yes, people will talk. But it would only be four years!” Raven argues.

Charles crooks an eyebrow at her.

“Well, eight, _max_ , if he wins re-election. Or, actually it would be more like six to ten including primaries and election season,” she amends, losing steam with each correction.

“That’s twenty to thirty-three percent of my entire life to date!” he points out.

She sighs and shoves lightly at him with her foot, putting the folder to the side and stabbing at her biryani. “I know it sounds nuts, but Erik is a really great guy and together you two could absolutely change the world. Think of JFK!”

“Kennedy?” he asks, not following her train of thought. “Do I really have to point out that he was assassinated as a reward for his efforts?”

“Well, yeah, but they couldn’t stop his impact!” she retorts with wave of her hand as though his point was a minor nagging detail. “Before him, ‘Catholic’ was nearly a dirty word in national politics. Now, people barely even blink, it’s become so common place. Imagine being able to do that for us!”

Mutants have been known for about sixty years, having first made their presence known during the height of the Civil Rights movement in the sixties. The community as a whole has banded together, fighting like hell to ward off any and all proposed registration acts, attempts at internment, and the recurring bids for power dampeners, save for the most extreme cases of Mutants who are either unwilling or unable to control their abilities. On paper, Mutants legally have the same rights as everyone else. But as with any other minority group, discrimination and prejudices still linger.

“Besides only, like, ten percent of American presidents have been assassinated. That’s crazy low compared to how many kings and czars were assassinated in the same time period,” Raven says as though it’s a perfectly reasonable counter-argument. “Just imagine: When Erik wins, the most powerful couple in the world, the two people the entire world looks to as leaders and role models, will be a pair of Mutants!”

“But if he _loses_ , I’d be bond mated to a man who doesn’t love or want me,” Charles points out with a grimace. “It’s a long, horrifically painful process to break a mating bond.”

“I know, I know. But if it would ease your mind, we can draw up a prenup, get it notarized by someone we can trust,” Raven says, talking lightning fast now, the way she does when her lips are barely keeping up with the speed of her thoughts. “It’ll outline the rules, lay out expectations, so that should you need to break your bond, it’s as comfortable as possible. _And_ you’re not doing this solely out of the goodness of your heart. Erik’s already agreed you can decide what you want in exchange for all of this. The sky is the limit.”

“I’m not exactly hurting for money,” Charles reminds her, “and I’m quite happy working as a genetics researcher.”

“Well, nobody says there’s anything wrong with doing it solely out of the goodness of your heart, if that’s what you really want,” Raven quips. “But, just so you’re aware, you can use your magic wish for the benefit of others if you’d like. You’re free to let your heart bleed all over the place.”

Charles thinks back to Raven’s words about making the world a better place for Mutants...

Seemingly sensing her advantage, Raven holds the folders out to him again.

Rolling his eyes, he takes them and hesitantly looks over the thick dossier.

He’s already somewhat familiar with Senator Lehnsherr. He voted for the man in the last election, intrigued by the idea of having someone so young and energetic representing their state. If he’s honest, he can also admit he’d been enticed by the idea of being represented by a Mutant, particularly one serving in the more powerful Senate chamber. But it’s one thing to like the idea of a person enough to vote for them and a whole different thing to willingly bond with that person and take them as a mate.

Charles reads, page by page, carefully reviewing each piece of information before finally looking up at Raven who is watching him nervously. He so badly wants to read her, to know exactly what she’s thinking, to make sure she’s not holding anything back from him for the sake of her boss’ agenda. But he promised her years and years ago that he’d never do that. She trusts him to keep out and he has to believe that she wouldn’t use that privacy to abuse his trust in return.

“Done? Ok. Let’s talk it out,” she says. “Ask me anything.”

Charles considers his first question carefully.

“You swear he’s one of the good politicians?” he asks. “I seriously can’t handle the thought of bond-mating with him only to find out he’s secretly trying to take over the world or something.”

Raven laughs. “If he is, he’s been doing amazing job of hiding it from me. But he wouldn’t be able to hide it from you for very long. Erik and I have been friends for over ten years and I work for him because I believe in what he’s doing.”

Charles doesn’t join her in her laughter.

“And you don’t expect me to do anything… _special…_ to help him win?” Charles says, wiggling his fingers in the short-hand they use to refer to his powers.

“Absolutely not,” Raven says firmly. “All we expect from you is the image of a stable, supportive mate. It’s one hundred percent up to Erik to sway hearts and minds.”

The answer is a relief. Charles is a strong believer in free will and vehemently opposes using his powers to control others. But, while he wouldn’t do it readily, Raven is one of the precious few who would stand any chance of convincing him to violate his own beliefs. He’s glad to establish upfront that she won’t ask him to.

“Do you truly believe he’d make a good mate?” Charles finally asks.

He’d never really considered settling down. By nature, he’s somewhat detached from the rest of society. While he considers his powers a gift, they’ve also been a sometimes-frustrating millstone, an unspoken divider that sets him apart. He long ago accept that he can’t have a true relationship with someone unless he’s able to disclose the full extent of his abilities. It’s dishonest. But even the dampened cover of being an empath has been too much for many, scaring away more than one potential paramour. 

Raven face softens, well-versed with his relationship struggles, and she nods. “I really do. I generally don’t believe in playing matchmaker, which is why I’ve never pushed you guys at each other. But the thought of you together genuinely makes me happy. I think you’ll find that he’s a good man with a good heart and he’ll accept you _and_ your powers.”

Charles accepts the answer with a nod, considering.

“Now, a question for you,” Raven says when he doesn’t follow up with another question. “If you had the power of the Presidency of the United States of America at your fingertips, what would you want more than anything else in the world?”

“He’s not going to do whatever I want just because I want it,” Charles points out. “He couldn’t even if he wanted to. There are checks and balances on Executive power.”

“True. But he’ll be _extremely_ influential. And the First Lady, or First Gentleman in your case, has a platform of their own,” she says, handing him her tablet.

It’s a list of philanthropic causes of former First Ladies and Gentlemen.

“Farmers’ aid, health initiatives, environmental protection, childhood literacy, domestic violence awareness. You’d become the ultimate advocate for anything you want. People will grovel at your feet to be part of your initiatives.”

Charles scrolls through the list, thinking. He’d be losing his treasured privacy, but he could do a greater good with the publicity and power of the Office of the First Gentleman than all his wealth and research combined could ever hope to. It’s tempting...

“Even… even omega rights?” he asks, curious.

Like Mutants, omegas have come a long way, no longer considered second-class citizens at the mercy of their family or their mates, but they still lag behind in vital areas like education, pay and career trajectories, and are three times more likely to live below the poverty line. Additionally, omega healthcare has lots of room for improvement, particularly when compared to the astronomical leaps and bounds Alpha health provisions have taken in the last century. Wealthy as he is, even Charles still experiences occasional roadblocks due to his combined Mutant-omega status.

“If that’s what you want,” Raven assures him.

He deliberates a little longer, knowing now is not a time to be hasty. If he does this, it will be a huge, nigh-unbreakable commitment and will come with a hefty price. But Erik’s attractive enough, and he could help both Mutants _and_ omegas world-wide, in ways he could otherwise only dream of…

His mind set, he heaves a sigh.

“Fine. How would we even do this?”

Raven gives a loud squeal and hugs him so tight it hurts a little.

“Okay, first you’ll just meet him. See if there’s even enough chemistry for you to bond,” she says, pulling out her cellphone and tapping away. “If there is, you guys will go on a series of dates, be seen out and about. Then we would ‘accidentally leak’ that he’s been in a serious relationship for nearly a year and is engaged. We want you bond-mated well ahead of the primaries so that gives us… about eight to nine months to establish our timeline before candidates starting their candidacies in January and February.”

“Eight months? That’s so fast,” Charles says, a little taken back by the speedy timeline.

Raven shakes her head. “That’s a life time in politics.”

She taps a little more before finally putting her phone aside. “Alright. Here’s the plan. Erik’s going to come here tomorrow around noon. That’ll give you guys the whole day to get a feel for each other and see what you think without having to worry about anyone seeing you before you’ve decided.”

“He’s coming here?” Charles asks, startled. “What are we supposed to do _here_?”

“Calm down. He’s not going to jump your bones or anything. Unless you want him to,” she says with a teasing smirk. “He’s just as nervous as you are. I’ll bring over some movies, some party games, make sure you guys have food and drinks, and you can just hang out and get to know each other.”

Charles looks at the picture in the dossier one more time, not sure what else to say.

“It’ll be fine, Charles. Trust me,” Raven says with a reassuring squeeze of his knee. “Now, I need a list of everyone you’ve ever slept with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: So, in the time since I started writing this story, we’ve actually gotten our first “Second Gentlemen”, but in this world because of ABO dynamics, having a First Lady/ First Gentleman, Second Lady/ Second Gentlemen is ubiquitous and not a source of controversy regardless of the primary gender of the President or Vice-President. Male/ Female is still the most common pairing, particularly amongst older generation, but same primary gender couples don’t experience any real level of prejudice. Same designation couples on the other hand do because there’s still a deeply ingrained prejudice against pairings unlikely to produce offspring. Double Alpha and double omegas would historically face high levels of resistance. Double beta couples would be discouraged but tolerated since they’re only slightly more fertile with Alphas or omegas than they are with each other.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day around 11:30, Charles is pretty sure he’s going to puke.

“Calm down,” Raven says softly. “I can smell your anxiety. It’s not very inviting.”

“I’m not sure I _want_ to smell very inviting,” Charles mutters.

“Well, can you at least tone it down to ‘meh’ because right now you smell like a big, honking helping of ‘Back the Fuck Off.’”

She sprays a mist of scent neutralizer at him to dilute his agitated wet cotton scent.

He fans it away crankily. “It’s just nerves.”

“I know, but you gotta chill, bro. You’re not some helpless nineteenth century maiden. If you don’t like him, you can say so. No harm, no foul.”

Charles sighs and focuses on relaxing his tense muscles and evening out his scent. It wouldn’t do for his pheromones to ruin this before he ever even opens his mouth.

Raven has gone all out to make this as stress-free as possible. There are Reubens from his favorite sandwich shop, the ginger beer he likes so much that he willingly goes all the way across town to buy it, cordial cherries that he usually can only find during the holidays, and a few other things that are probably favorites of Erik’s. She came over early to help him pick out an outfit (‘to save you from your old man cardigans’) and then cleaned his apartment top to bottom, installing infusers that are supposed to make potential mates more receptive to each other. Half of her board game collection is stacked beside his coffee table, heavy on the twenty questions and would-you-rather type games. Now they’re just waiting for the senator to arrive.

When the doorbell rings, Charles swears he nearly pisses himself with nervousness. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he crosses the living room and opens the front door.

Where he’s greeted by two large Alphas in black suits.

“That’s Erik’s security detail,” Raven says, popping up behind him. “They just need to give the place a once over and then they’ll be out of your hair.”

“Sir,” the taller one says politely. “Ma’am.”

Charles steps back, allowing them entry, smelling the strong, clinical odor of scent-blocker. While it probably has professional purposes, he appreciates strangers not marking his space. He watches curiously as they open every door, look out every window, and check out every room including the bathroom.

“Thank you, sir,” the shorter one says as they head back out the front door. “Have a good afternoon.”

Seconds later, the door opens again and the man of the hour steps into the apartment. He’s tall and lean, his body hinting at a love of running or perhaps swimming. His hair is perfectly coiffed, cut neatly but just long enough for loose waves to form. On TV, his hair looks brunette, but in person, Charles can see he’s actually a dark redhead which offsets his icy blue eyes perfectly. He’s wearing a snow-white dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to the elbow. No tie, top button undone, navy-blue vest and slacks, chestnut brown belt and shoes. He looks like he just stepped off the cover of Esquire or GQ. Or directly out of Charles’ dreams.

“Hey, Erik! Come on in,” Raven greets him happily, motioning the Alpha into the living room.

Lehnsherr smiles, not a big smile, but warm and seemingly genuine.

“Senator Lehnsherr,” Charles says, voice raspier than he intended. He clears his throat, stepping forward, sticking his hand out in greeting.

“Please, call me Erik,” he says, baritone deep and striking, as he grasps the offered hand to shake.

The second they make contact, a shock like electricity sizzles up Charles’ arm and he shivers as a scent like high-quality leather inundates his senses. When they release the grip, Charles’ head is swimming and he’s a bit stunned. He looks over to Raven who is grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Well, I’ll get out of your way,” she says, quickly grabbing her keys and purse. “If either of you needs me, text me. I’ll be close by but not too close. Have fun you two.”

The clicking of the front door closing shakes enough of the daze off for Charles to realize he’s not being a very good host.

“Uh…,” he casts his gaze around, barely able to think for all the _wantwantnownowNOW_ his brain is pushing at him. “Are… are you hungry?”

Erik blinks, seemingly a little confused himself, and looks over at the dining room table laden with food. “I could eat.”

They both take a seat at the table. He offers the platter of corn beef sandwiches.

Erik takes a sandwich and sliding it on to his own plate.

“Thank you,” he says. “Everything smells so good.”

_Especially you._

The thought comes through so loud and clear, it all but smacks Charles in the face.

“Oh my god,” Charles says with a gasp followed by a relieved chuckle.

“What?” Erik asks with a curious tilt of his lips. He bites into his sandwich and hums in appreciation.

Charles huffs out a breath and laughs again. “As you can probably tell, we’re very compatible.”

Erik nodded and swallows his food. “Yes. I can feel it.”

“Well, when you walked in, my brain basically short circuited. Like, can’t think, cannot compute, Danger-Will-Robinson levels of _holy shit.”_

Erik raises a brow in surprise, puts down his sandwich, swiping his hands together to dust off crumbs. “I feel a pull, but not _that_ strongly.”

“I shouldn’t either,” Charles says. “I didn’t understand why I was until I heard you just now.”

Erik frowns, that gorgeous brow crumpling lightly. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Not out loud, no.”

Erik blanches then blushes. Then his face goes carefully blank.

Charles laughs softly but not unkindly. “No. Thinking empty thoughts won’t help. I could plow through your brain if I wanted. But I won’t. Raven didn’t warn you about my telepathy?”

Erik is still holding himself very tightly, his discomfort loud and clear.

“She did, but it’s still jarring to experience first-hand. That’s a very potent power to have.”

“It’s a blessing and a curse,” Charles agrees with a shrug. “It really depends on the person and the day. Today’s kind of a mixed bag. I was getting your thoughts and feelings _and_ my own. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one feeling it, but also a bit overwhelming in the first few minutes of a potential match.”

Erik hums noncommittally.

“So, anything I think, you can hear?” he asks cautiously.

Charles gestures his hand in a ‘kinda’ motion. “If I’m listening. Or if you’re really focused on a particular thought or idea. It’s the equivalent of mentally shouting. I learned to tune most of it out a long time ago. I’d go insane if I listened to everybody all the time.”

Erik picks up his sandwich again but doesn’t take a bite. His face crinkles with curiosity in a way that’s oddly endearing. “And if I have things I don’t wish to share?”

“I can teach you how to shield,” Charles offers. “You’ll have to practice though. It’s a very fine line between walling off a thought to protect it and focusing on it so hard that you’re projecting like a billboard on Times Square.”

Erik nods and finally resumes eating, some of the tension in the room easing.

“Ok. I’ve shown you mine. Care to show me yours?” Charles asks, tucking into his own sandwich. His mouth puckers at the tang of the sauerkraut combined with the sweetness of the Thousand Island dressing and he hums in pleasure.

Erik quirks a brow.

“Your power,” Charles rushes to clarify with a hand over his mouth, hopefully mitigating the rudeness of talking with his mouth full. The soft, stinging burn of a blush heats his cheeks.

Erik smirks and flicks a wrist. A fork from the unused place setting to Charles’ left floats up from the table, sailing smoothly and unencumbered, until it descends to land gently and soundlessly in front Erik.

Charles swallows quickly.

“Oh, how marvelous!” he says, genuinely enthused. “Metallo-kineticism?”

“Yes, but not just metal, I can manipulate anything that has a magnetic field. Bending metal is the most visual demonstration of my powers.”

 _Truly amazing,_ Charles responds mentally.

Erik smiles back, his small grin growing large, as he silently projects an airy wave of relief that’s just strong enough to make Charles curious.

* * *

After eating their fill of sandwiches and finger foods, they move to the living room and settle on the couch.

“Ok. So, we’re definitely bond compatible. What’s our next step?” Charles asks as he pivots to face Erik, pulling a knee up and tucking it under his body.

“Well, people have to buy that we’re very much in love and know each other quite well,” Erik says firmly. But he doesn’t appear to have any suggestions on how to achieve that goal.

They glance around at all the icebreaker games Raven brought.

“If that’s the case,” Charles says, “then I believe we have two options: we can spend the next few hours asking each other questions, hoping we’ll remember all of it. Or…”

“Or?”

Charles wiggles his fingers. “I can give you a mental rundown and set a story in your mind.”

Erik raises a brow, physically leaning back and away from Charles. “You could create a false memory of us meeting?”

“I could but I won’t. My plan is to implant a detailed story so that you don’t have to worry about forgetting, but I wouldn’t mess with your actual memory. You’d be fully aware that the story’s not true.”

“That’s a little… disturbing,” Erik says, slowly.

“We don’t have to,” Charles assures him. “I absolutely won’t without your expressed consent. We can just verbally hash out a story and practice so we don’t get tripped up.”

Erik purses his lips, clearly thinking. Charles waits patiently, not attempting to sway him in either direction.

“You won’t touch my actual memories?” Erik asks pointedly.

“You’ll remember everything clearly. It’ll be like having crib notes that you can mentally check with just a thought. It doesn’t change what you actually know.”

“Okay,” Erik agrees, reluctantly. “What do you need?”

“Just for you to relax,” Charles says. “I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version of my life. I’ve lived a fairly private life since my parents passed, but many of your colleagues may remember them well. Once people realize who I am, there will be questions. You’ll be able to answer like you’ve known me for years.”

Erik closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Cool fingers touch his temples and then he feels something he can only describe as a hard tickle at the center of his brain.

“There,” Charles says after a few seconds, pulling his hands away.

When Erik opens his eyes and looks at Charles, he feels a deep fondness that wasn’t there before. His eyes wander over the small scar on Charles index finger from the time he accidentally caught his finger in a car door. He sees the barely distinguishable veneer of a capped tooth Charles chipped in a nasty fall during a soccer game. He looks around the apartment, at all the photos on the wall, and remembers Charles’ time in Oxford, his trips to Rome, his visit to Pompeii.

“ _Mein Gott._ This is incredible,” Erik whispers, completely awestruck by how much he knows about this man who was all but a complete stranger mere moments before.

“Isn’t it? Months, maybe years of small talk condensed into a single touch,” Charles says with a bright grin. Then he reaches to touch his fingers to Erik’s temple once more.

“Now I’ll do the same for myself. Ready?”

Erik grabs Charles by the wrist. “You’ll know as much about me as I know about you?”

Charles nods. “More or less.”

Erik blinks, hesitating, uncomfortable with the idea of nakedly exposing his every thought. He tries to figure out a way to explain, to put into words the discomfort that fills him over this potential vulnerability.

“Charles… For a full year, you convinced your mother that you’ve always been allergic to Brussels Sprouts. The first and only time you used your powers to cheat on a test, you felt so guilty you intentionally made a mistake that was sure to make the teacher suspicious. The night of your first heat, you thought you were going to come out of your skin and by the end you were so exhausted from going it alone, you couldn’t imagine ever actually wanting to have real sex with anyone,” Erik ticks off, his voice growing more and more tense with each embarrassing description. “ _Gott im Himmel!_ I can pull all of that from the memories you shared without even trying. I’m… I’m not sure I can be that open with _anybody_. Or that I even _want_ to be that open.”

Charles sits back, a soft blush staining his cheeks even as his eyes brim with compassion. “I understand it’s daunting, Erik. But this is what you said you wanted. Iron-clad, no room for mistakes.”

Erik chews his lip, still unsure and maybe a little afraid if he’s honest.

“We don’t have to,” Charles says. “I can reach out for answer if I need one.”

“Would it be seamless?” Erik asks, tempted to take the compromise, the easy way out.

The omega shakes his head.

“No, more like if I had to stop mid-conversation to ask you a question, but wordless. To anyone watching, it would come across as a slight pause, the duration of which depends on the information I’m seeking,” Charles explains. “I can change perceptions in-person, but I can’t control things that get recorded or broadcasted.”

Erik tsks his tongue in dissatisfaction. He needs perfection, but he’s… wary.

“I’ll tell you what,” Charles says, shifting his weight. “If there’s something you _really_ don’t want me to know, focus on that moment and think about putting it in a sturdy, secure box. One with sharp bits of glass and barbwire. I’ll know not to pull from that particular area.”

Erik looks at him curiously. “You can avoid certain memories?”

Charles nods, clearly very proud of his hard-earned control. “Absolutely. With a little digging, I can pick out specific memories. With a little help, I can avoid them or track down entire memory paths.”

Erik sighs and releases his grip on the man’s wrist. “Okay.”

Charles lifts his fingers back to Erik’s temple. “Alright. Relax, just like before.”

With a steadying breath, Erik lets himself sink into the sofa back, focusing on keeping his breath even and his mind calm and open.

This time it’s more a gentle tugging, a knot being teased a-loose. Then it slips away.

When he opens his eyes, Charles is staring at him, eyes moist and shiny.

“You are truly remarkable,” Charles murmurs.

Their mutual exchange has made it clear there is a large grain of truth in Charles’ empath ruse. Erik doesn’t want to know which of his memories has the man near tears. Instead, he brushes it all aside.

“How should we say we met?” he asks brusquely, sitting forward on his sofa cushion, thoroughly uninterested in sympathy or compassion.

Charles rolls with it, thankfully.

“Since Raven is your Chief of Staff, it would be entirely reasonable to say that you and I met at a gathering at her place. We may also want to bring in one or two people you trust to back the memory.”

“We should definitely loop in Raven,” Erik agrees. “And my mentor, Bill Dodd. And Moira McTaggert. She’s spearheading my exploratory committee.”

“Sure. As long as they consent, I can do that,” Charles agrees.

They hash out the details. They met initially at a small get together at Raven’s house for Erik’s core staff. Charles just happened to come by that night and they were introduced. After spending most of the night talking, they exchanged phone numbers and started texting before finally meeting up for dinner and a movie at Erik’s place a few times. They’ve never been seen in public before because Charles doesn’t care for the limelight and Erik didn’t want his romantic life to distract from his political endeavors, but with his increased public profile, they realize that keeping their relationship completely private isn’t realistic and might cause people to think Erik is hiding something.

Once they’ve hashed out the specifics, Charles presses his fingers to Erik’s forehead once more. After the memory is set, Erik probes it like a newly repaired tooth. He pokes, mentally examining all the details. He knows that Charles was not at Raven’s condo that night. None of them were. But he can also remember laughing with Bill, pouring wine for Moira, and arguing with Raven about who would pay for the delivery (she insisted she should because it was her place, but he’s the boss and he was treating his staff and friends). He also vividly remembers when Charles showed up, being introduced to his Chief of Staff’s older brother, getting his first whiff of light, clean cotton. He recalls the intense spark of attraction flaring to life as he took in the fitted dark heather t-shirt and the omega cut navy-blue chinos the younger man was wearing that night.

It’s eerie and fascinating.

After Charles is done, there’s an awkward silence, as they both try to adjust to the oddness of being strangers who’ve known each other for well over a year.

“Hey, do you want to see how many of those get-to-know-you questions we can now answer about each other?” Charles pipes up.

Curious, Erik reaches for a box, prying the lid off. They each pick a card.

“What’s your favorite show?” Charles reads. He pauses and thinks. “You don’t really like TV, but when you do watch it, you like True Crime dramas. It intrigues you to understand why people do the things they do, particularly when they choose to do bad things. It’s the same reason you like reading autobiographies.”

Erik stares at him for a moment.

“That’s kinda creepy,” he says decidedly, then reads his own card. “When it comes to social gatherings, do you usually arrive early or show up late?”

He thinks for a moment, letting his newfound general impression of Charles flow over him.

“For you, it depends. If it’s something you’re really looking forward to, you’re very conscientious about time. But if it’s not, you get wrapped up in whatever has your attention instead. You nearly missed your own high school graduation because you found a cool documentary about gene splicing!”

Charles blushes, ducking his head. “It was very fascinating!”

Erik barks with laughter at the woeful justification.

“Another card, please,” Charles demands, imperiously. “I know you have a fatal character flaw of your own. I just need the right prompt to find it.”

They go through the cards for another twenty minutes, alternating between amusement over how much they know and being embarrassed by how well the other now knows them.

Without realizing it, they end up sitting thigh to thigh, close enough that most would call it cuddling. It was done without even thinking about it, shuffling closer as they laugh, not scooting back after they reach for a new card from the box, being slow to draw their hand back when they shove playfully at the other for laughing at a long-forgotten memory. It doesn’t feel strange or uncomfortable. It’s something they remember having done dozens and dozens of times even as they know they’ve never actually touched before beyond their initial handshake and Charles’ fingers to Erik’s temple. But somehow, it feels… natural.

“Last card,” Erik declares as he pulls from the deck. “’Who was your first kiss?’”

Charles tilts his head, searching for the memory. “Well, you remember Lorenz Jones kissing you in kindergarten, but you don’t recall it very fondly.”

“He had cooties,” Erik insists indignantly.

Charles laughs then purses his lips as he searches further. Erik can clock when he finds the right moment.

“The first time you actually _wanted_ to be kissed was eighth grade, Magda Gurzsky.”

Erik nodded. “We were both pretty close to presenting. All I could think of when she was around was how _good_ she smelled, all the time.”

“Like honey,” Charles added.

Erik hums with the remembered scent.

“Your first kiss…” Erik murmurs. Then his brow creases into a frown. “Raven kissed you?”

Charles shrugs, a bit chagrined.

“It was more a ‘when I grow up, I’m going to marry my brother because he’s my best friend in the whole world’ kind of thing. You have to remember, we’re not biologically related. She was eight and I was ten when we first met so the time for the Westermarck Effect had long passed. It was a briefly crossed wire. Nothing more. And it never happened again. Don’t mention it to her. She’ll pretend she has no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mums the word,” he swears then returns to looking for the right memory.

“Your first real kiss… Eleventh grade? Later bloomer, huh?”

“I like to think I was just selective,” Charles defends haughtily.

Erik laughs as he tosses the card onto the table and bumps shoulders playfully with Charles.

“You know, with all the new memories I have, I don’t remember having ever kissed you,” Erik says. “I feel like I’ve wanted to for months, but never have.”

“I didn’t want to take liberties,” Charles explains bashfully.

“Such a gentleman,” Erik teases. He leans in just a hint. “May I?”

Feeling the same sense of longing, Charles nods wordlessly, tilting his head back. His eyes drift closed as he offers his lips.

The first pressing kiss is electric, just as intensely shocking as their earlier handshake. It’s a teasing seduction that instantly whets his appetite for more. The moment their lips touch, a dam breaks, and they know they won’t be able to limit themselves to just a chaste peck. Nor do they even want to.

Erik is really good at this. It’s not long before Charles lets loose a moan, losing himself in Erik’s heated leather Alpha scent filling the air. The warm cotton of his own omega scent is stronger than it’s ever been, strong enough that he can smell it himself. When Erik’s tongue presses against his lips for entry, Charles gladly opens, loving how slick and deft the Alpha’s tongue feels against his own. Without conscious thought, he leans in further, whimpering, clutching at Erik, twining his fingers in the satin-soft fabric of his vest, wordlessly pleading for more. Erik seems to understand the unvoiced demand and pulls him forward, shifting until they’re lying flat across the couch. A not-quite-formed mental question floats across his consciousness, a clumsy non-verbal request for permission.

“Yes, please,” Charles murmurs, unwilling to pull his mouth completely free. “Feels good…”

They adjust until Erik is laid flat and Charles is straddling him, in a way Charles would normally find brazen and scandalous. But right now, with his hands braced against a beautifully solid chest that he wishes he could touch skin to skin, he can’t even think clearly enough to contemplate being embarrassed. With their intense compatibility, he’s been half-hard since that first electric shock when they shook hands. It feels unspeakably good to stop holding back. He shamelessly rolls his hips, seeking more stimulation, pulling a throaty groan from Erik as he grinds their hard lengths together. A big hand lands on his hip with a firm grip, encouraging the movement, pressing them together closer, tighter, harder. Before he knows it, Charles is whining into their kiss, climax so close he can almost taste it. He jerks his mouth free, gasping for air.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Erik murmurs, his voice deep and raspy with arousal. “Let me see you, _schatz…_ ”

Erik keeps murmuring sweet nothings, encouraging Charles to give in, which he happily does, letting his back arch, his head dropping back, as his hips move, relentlessly seeking out that delicious friction. It only takes about another minute before his breath hitches and he tenses, every muscle tight, tight, tight… Then he’s shivering as pleasure rolls over him.

“So beautiful, _liebling_ ,” Erik soothes, rubbing his scent into all the skin he can reach, encouraging Charles to let go.

After several long moments, Charles sighs, his body sated and growing heavy. He slumps down onto Erik’s chest, all but boneless, listening to the solid, rapid heartbeat underneath his ear as he tries to catch his breath.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to realize that Erik is still tense and hard beneath him.

“What do you need?” he asks, pressing moist kisses to the skin exposed at the Alpha’s collar.

Erik doesn’t say anything but he’s broadcasting both aching need and shaky uncertainty.

“Take what you need,” Charles encourages him with a whisper.

Erik groans, then roughly hikes Charles’ knee higher up his hip, opening the cradle of Charles’ pelvis. He tucks his face into the crook of Charles’ neck, mouthing at the skin there as he grinds up, the motion getting faster, rougher, sloppier until he jerks his mouth away and growls, trembling through his own release. After several long seconds of tension, he flops back down onto the couch.

They’re both winded and more than a little stunned by how quickly that escalated. But neither speaks, not wanting to puncture the perfect bubble of whatever this is. Instead, they rest, basking in the floaty, blissful afterglow of orgasm. Charles marvels at the pleasant ache and sting of a temporary bond forming, his researcher’s mind cataloguing every detail, fascinated by the pops of emotion he can feel from his new partner. Unvoiced contentment sings back and forth through the nascent link, loud and clear. They rest like that until the discomfort of drying body fluids forces Charles to his feet.

He heads to his bedroom and points Erik to the guest bathroom. Finishing first, and in fresh, clean clothes, Charles then heads to the kitchen. He pops two bags of popcorn and pours them into a large bowl. He also grabs a mini-plate and scoops a big helping of cubed cheese onto it. Finally, he tucks two bottles of lightly flavored water into the crook of his arms and carries his bounty into the living room, setting it on the coffee table. He gives the sofa cushions a once over for any potential stains or wet spots, before dropping back down to wait.

Erik finally comes out of the guest bathroom a minute or two later, a little rumpled, but still devilishly handsome and otherwise put together. He walks confidently over to the couch, but then hesitates, what he instinctively wants to do clashing with uncertainty that such behavior would actually be welcome given how recent their acquaintance is.

“After what we just did, you wanting to cuddle and watch TV is not going to shock my delicate sensibilities,” Charles assures him.

They settle in together, Erik the big spoon to Charles’ little spoon. Clicking on the TV, Charles flips through the channels until he lands on a rerun of Star Trek, the original series. The campiness is the exact kind of mindless entertainment they need in the moment. Erik laughs when they realize this particular episode centers around the Enterprise crew trying to cope when the teenaged refugee they rescued turns out to have uncontrolled psychic powers.

It’s so peaceful that neither of them wants to break the spell. They don’t move until Charles’ phone buzzes. With a long-suffering sigh, he pulls himself from Erik’s arms to check it.

_I’m coming in, T-minus 10. Make sure you’re decent._

He shows Erik the message and they reluctantly separate, trying to meet Raven’s minimal demand. Charles sprays a few puffs of scent neutralizer. But the spray doesn’t stand a chance against the gale force pheromones of a newly minted bond, not even a temporary one.

Exactly ten minutes after her text, Raven enters the apartment with a quick rap of her knuckles against the door frame, a nervous, curious half-smile on her face. She freezes before she even gets a word out. Her nose twitches as she sniffs once, twice, then lets out a giddy giggle.

Flames lick across Charles’ face. He’d barely even wanted to meet Erik not even twenty-four hours ago. But he regrets nothing and refuses to be ashamed.

“I love it when a plan comes together,” Raven cheers with happy little clap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erik scents is more rugged. In general, he smells subtly of leather. Charles has a softer scent cotton. In my head, he smells like fresh, clean laundry. That’s their base scent, but you’ll see throughout the story how their scents change to match their moods. 
> 
> In this story, Charles is still conscientious about respecting people’s privacy and autonomy, but he’s not quite as rigidly moralistic as in canon. So, he’s against blatantly break into people’s minds to steal secrets, but he doesn’t think much of picking up mundane information like names, numbers, and surface level thoughts.
> 
> [Picture of Erik ](https://hips.hearstapps.com/digitalspyuk.cdnds.net/16/46/1479310486-esquire-michael-fassbender-photo-1-by-cedric-buchet.jpeg)  
>   
> The episode of Star Trek they watch is [ Charlie X (SFW)](https://youtu.be/7p0hRyQFVnQ)
> 
> Next chapters post on Friday!


	5. Chapter 5

With a temporary bond they need to nurture to permanent, there are decisions to be made quickly, every day considerations like work and living arrangements. State law requires Erik to maintain a permanent residence in New York and reside there at least fifty percent of the year. Failure to comply would potentially disqualify him from his Senate seat. And of course, Senate duties require his presence in D.C. for weeks at a time. That doesn’t leave much flexibility for accommodating the needs and preferences of others. Particularly Charles who has his own life and his own work, including a very coveted and extremely hard-fought position he’s earned centered on groundbreaking mutant genetics research for Columbia University. He can’t just walk away from it, nor does he want to.

But they’re limited in how long they can be apart before the onset of Separation Syndrome leading to initial bond withdrawal symptoms and eventual degradation of the connection itself. That is given priority consideration.

In short order, it’s decided that Erik’s New York loft will be their primary residence where they sleep each night; they’ll travel together to his D.C. townhome as needed. Since Charles’ apartment is too small to comfortably cohabitate in, particularly when both often work from home, it’ll be maintained as a wanna-get-away space for him until he’s ready to let it go. However, Raven makes it very clear that once word gets out about their relationship, he can’t be seen there alone too often. Following that line of reasoning, it doesn’t take Charles long to realize that the housing decisions make commuting to his job, an already two-hour roundtrip daily, nearly impossible. When he voices his concerns, he’s off-handedly reassured that they’ll figure it out.

But the longer they go without a firm solution, the harder it is for him to hold back the irritation swelling in the pit of his stomach. Decisions are being made about their lives, _his_ life, ostensibly to accompany their bond-mating, but in truth it feels more like declarations from the Lehnsherr Presidential Exploration Committee, with priority given to campaign optics, and less like a series of mutual decisions by the nascent Xavier-Lehnsherr family. Three days later, Charles is still struggling against the growing resentment, which is how he ends up at Erik’s, in flannel pajama bottoms, engaged in what could only be described as extremely cranky cuddling, smelling like a damp t-shirt.

“What’s wrong?” Erik murmurs quietly from behind Charles.

They’re curled up on the luxuriously soft sofa in Erik’s den, pressed together to relieve the skin hunger that has built up over the last few days of back and forth, transferring Charles’ essential belongings from one side of town to the other.

Charles shakes his head. There’s no point in talking now. What’s done is done, apparently whether he likes it or not.

But Erik tuts his tongue, unswayed. The metal bender may not be able to read minds, but in addition to catching echoes of Charles’ feelings through their bond, his sense of smell works just fine. With all that evidence, he seems unwilling to let it lie, wheedling until Charles finally spills.

“If you must know,” Charles says brusquely, “I’m angry.”

“Angry? At me?” Erik asks, his voice tinted with genuine confusion.

“Yes. You _and_ Raven. But mostly at myself.”

How could he have been so dumb as to not realize the implications of bonding even temporarily with someone who lives primarily in a different state? He knew going in that he’d be giving some things up, but with pheromones fogging his brain, he’d thought it’d be more abstract measures like privacy and spontaneity, not the job he’d dreamed of and worked towards for over a decade. Rationally, he knows Erik doesn’t mean to cost him something he’s worked so hard for, but the irrational part of his brain is shrieking that he’s killing his own dream so that Erik’s can flourish and grow.

“Can you take a leave? Or request some sort of sabbatical until we can set the bond?” Erik asks once Charles has word vomited his feelings all over them both. “Once we’re bond mated, we’ll be able to spend much longer apart.”

Bonded but not yet mated, they could only be apart for short periods of time, maybe a day at the very most. Once permanent, that could be stretched out to nearly two weeks if needed. But it’s not even an option until they cycle together. Charles had his most recent heat at the beginning of April and Erik’s rut was in Mid-May, just a little over two weeks ago. It usually takes one more cycle after the initial linking of a temporary bond for potential mates to synch quarterlies. By their calculations, the earliest they’d be able to permanently bond would be sometime around October, months from now, a time span that will largely be spent in D.C.

“The best I’d be able to do is FMLA mating leave. But if your campaign is successful, we’ll be expected to move to D.C. full-time,” Charles points out forcefully. “No employer is going to grant half a decade of leave, paid or otherwise.”

“What about transferring to an affiliated university in the DMV?” Erik asks, referring to the metropolitan area that covers Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia.

Charles shifts to glare over his shoulder. “Columbia is the top mutant genetics research program in the country. We’re doing cutting-edge work that wouldn’t be possible anywhere else.”

Erik holds his hands up in surrender. “What about the CDC? They have a mutations division. Or maybe Johns Hopkins or George Washington University.”

Charles thinks about it. Those actually are really good programs. He’d applied to them as backups in case Oxford didn’t accept him for his doctoral studies.

“Will I even be allowed to work as the First Gentleman?” Charles asks, not particularly hopeful. “No one ever has before. I want to work. Truly work, not just be humored by opportunists seeking favor with you.”

“You’re at the top of your field. You’ll know if someone is humoring you or if they truly value your expertise,” Erik assures him. “All I’d be doing is asking a friend to ask a friend if anything is open. You’ll have to do the heavy lifting yourself. But from what I’ve seen, you’re brilliant and anyone would be beyond lucky to have you.”

Charles pouts a bit more, well aware that they haven’t actually reached a viable solution. But it’s as close as they’ll get tonight. He relents with a hum of acceptance, allowing himself to relax and enjoy Erik’s touch. Leaving his job is not optimal, but since he really has no other choice, he chooses to mentally frame it as an exciting opportunity to grow his CV in a new direction.

\--

That weekend, Raven calls them bright and early with recommendations for outings and sightings to get their relationship on the public’s radar, to create curiosity about Charles’ identity while pretending to want the exact opposite.

By her estimation, now is a perfect, with the lovely late-May weather driving people outdoors. Erik and Charles go for brunch at a small café not far from the loft, purposefully requesting a table in an alcove not easily seen unless you’re really trying. In a calculated move, Raven has Charles wear a large, flesh-colored square bandage over the faded remains of his hickey, hinting at a mating bite. The collar of his shirt is carefully just the right height that it gives the appearance of a desire for concealment, but anyone with a smartphone camera and a nose for other people’s business will think they’ve gotten a scoop by snapping a picture of it.

Once seated, they have a lovely and leisurely meal of smoked salmon and egg salad on toast with café americano, honey dew melon, and orange juice while pretending to want privacy.

It works like a charm. By the time they get back to Erik’s, a few of the gossip outlets have already posted a blurb with candid photos and the speculation is picking up steam.

“Social media is digging it. Check it out,” Raven’s voice chirps enthusiastically through the speaker phone. She pulls up her media deck and shares it through the conferencing software so Erik and Charles can see it as well.

**TMZ** @TMZ · 24m

Whoa! Junior Senator from New York is Holding Congress with New Beau!

**153** Retweets **2.3K** Likes

**Chelsea** @ChelseaFromTheBronx

Wait. Is my man cheating on me? Am I gonna have to beat somebody up?

#Rude #Leggo

**6** Retweets **52** Likes

**212Hottie** @HottieBody

They’re so cute together!!!

**16** Retweets **117** Likes

**NaturesPatriot** @TrueNature716

Who gives a fuck about a couple of muties? It’s fucking disgusting.

**28** Retweets **72** Likes

**LucyG** @LucyGoose

| _Who gives a fuck about a couple of muties? It’s fucking disgusting._

Nobody:

NaturesPatriot: ThIs iS uNnAtUrAl1!!1!

#LoveIsLove

**39** Retweets **173** Likes

**Dantastic** @YankeeDoodleDanny

That’s a session I’d watch. Link please. Thank u.

[Thirst Emoji]

#DontTease

**12** Retweets **144** Likes

**Jill Foster** @JillyBean

Look at those eyes! And that bone structure! They’ll have such cute pups!

[Heart Eyes Emoji]

**222** Retweets **1.2K** Likes

**BuzzFeed Celeb** @BuzzFeedCeleb · 13m

New York’s Sexiest Senator Bitten by the Mating Bug?

**540** Retweets **3.4K** Likes

**Anna Marie** @AnnaInTheAM

Ohmigawd! Who are they kidding w/ that band-aid?!

**331** Retweets **1.6K** Likes

**Bryan Walton** @BeantownBoy

Oh, bite me. No, seriously. Please!

**43** Retweets **351** Likes

“So, it worked,” Charles asks from his seat on the couch.

“To perfection,” Raven agrees. “We’re going to keep putting you guys out there, get people use to seeing you together and build up the buzz about who you are.”

The next weekend, they go to a local craft fair, casually looking at baubles, knick-knacks, odds, and ends, pretending not to notice the occasional person sneaking cellphones pics of them. Charles makes sure to examine a wide variety of fabrics and soft, upholstered items. He even spends time looking over a display case of hand-made courting hair combs, even though he already owns several heirloom sets of his own. Before they leave, they end up buying a super soft, ruby-red chunk knit blanket Charles is enamored with despite himself.

**BuzzFeed Celeb** @BuzzFeedCeleb · 1h

Alpha and omega sitting in a tree. N-E-S-T-I-N-G?

#SenatorSexy #MateDate

**703** Retweets **2.9K** Likes

**Skyler** @SkyHiAndChilling

Ohmigosh! First the band-aid and now their shopping for linens and pillows?!

They’re totally nesting, aren’t they?!

#SenatorSexy #MateDate

**97** Retweets **415** Likes

**Karen Carter** @KCfromNY94

| _Ohmigosh! First the bandaid and now their shopping for crafts?!_

| _They’re nesting, aren’t they?!_

Ugh. I want to pretend it’s hate I feel, but I know it’s really jealousy.

#SenatorSexy #MateDate

**41** Retweets **351** Likes

**Teen Vogue** @TeenVogue · 1h

Courting Hair Comb Styles for Every Hair Type

#MateDate #Courting

**93** Retweets **455** Likes

**Yennifer** @LilacAndGooseberries

With his skin tone and hair color, he’d be so cute with jewel-toned hair combs

#SenatorSexy #MateDate

**11** Retweets **362** Likes

**Etsy** @Etsy · 15m

Looking to Perfect Your Nest? Check Out Our Guide to Chunky Knit Blankets!

#MateDate #BlessThisNest

**58** Retweets **455** Likes

**Chelsea** @ChelseaFromTheBronx

Ok. Now I know I’m gonna have to beat somebody up.

#SenatorSexy #Mine #Dibs

**10** Retweets **267** Likes

**KyrieK** @SpecialK_680

Anybody know if the omega is a mutie? That’d be mad cool.

#SenatorSexy #MateDate #MutiePride #MutieLove

**10** Retweets **131** Likes

**Kevin** @TruthHurtsSoCry

Hope not. Last thing we need is more fucking mutie babies.

#PureNature #MutantFreaksMustDie

**238** Retweets **33** Likes

**KyrieK** @ SpecialK_680

| _Hope not. Last thing we need is more fucking mutie babies._

Who fucking asked u, asshole? Nature don’t even care.

2 muties can have a non-mutie kid & vice versa. Most

muties have at least 1 non-mutant parent. Naturally!

#MutantsAreNature

**202** Retweets **989** Likes

**Willa Brann** @PukingRainbows

Guys, chill. We don’t even know they’re a couple.

He’s been seen w the same guy twice. Big whoop.

Can we just enjoy the pretty people w/o the death match?

#SenatorSexy #MateDate #HarshingMyVibe

**2** Retweets **271** Likes

**Maria Cavalli** @ItsAMe_MAHria

I could care less about mutie v non-mutie argument, but

No fucking way they aint together. Look at how close they stand!

And how they look at each other!!!

[Heart Eyes Emoji]

#SenatorSexy #MateDate

**7** Retweets **479** Likes

**BRB_1997** @iLLBeInMyBunk

Uff. To be a fly on THAT wall…

[gif: woman fanning herself]

#SenatorSexy #MateDate

**19** Retweets **687** Likes

For the rest of the month, Erik continues to push his reform bill, keeping his senatorial work beyond reproach. Charles begins the arduous task of infiltrating the inner circles of D.C. academia, enjoying the challenge of doing so before his connection to Erik becomes widely known. On weekends, they continue their mini-excursions, allowing people to make of it what they will.

In June, Erik’s invited to throw out the first pitch at a Triple-A minor league baseball game. Charles accompanies him.

“I’m always happy to go witness cricket’s less-refined distant cousin,” he teases.

Once the ceremonial pitch is completed, they’re comped premium seats right behind home plate, Erik to his left, Raven to his right. It’s more fun than Charles expected. Watching a baseball game on TV is about as entertaining as watching paint dry, but the stadium crew obviously has put a lot of effort into crowd engagement. There’s music and chants, vendors hawking treats using old timey crowd barking. The grounds crew sets off fireworks any time a player for the home team hits a home run and rally girls race through the outfield with team banners as the lucky player circles the bases.

The camera man also keeps people on their toes by randomly spotlighting crowd members on the gigantic jumbotron, giving kids a chance to show off dance moves or homemade signs. With Erik being a local honorary, their group gets extra attention. The Kiss Cam splays them onto the enormous screen for all to see between innings three separate times. The first time they all wave it off, dramatically making silly slicing across the neck motions and laughing until the camera man gives up. The second time, Raven hams it up and gives Charles a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Finally, the third time, Charles takes the lead, pretending to wave the cameraman off. When the lens zooms in and out dramatically several times while the Four Tops’ ‘Sugar Pie, Honey Punch’ blares through the stadium speakers, Charles feigns a sigh and leans towards Raven only to swerve away at the last moment and kiss Erik directly on the lips. The crowd roars, delighted to finally have an answer. Erik nods his head, projecting an air of bashfulness that doesn’t come through the bond, and gives a friendly wave before the cameraman moves on to his next target.

The official team video featuring the kiss as part of a truncated Game Replay reel gets 67 thousand hits on YouTube before morning and is featured on Good Day New York in the ‘local fun’ segment.

“Eeexcellent,” Raven drawls in a pretty solid imitation of Mr. Burns. “Now, let’s move this along with a ‘leak.’”

She scrolls through the dozens of burner accounts she’s built out just for things like this, selecting the one most likely to gain traction quickly:

**Brema D’Alessandro** @TheImpossibleBree

Holy shit guys! I was going through my bf’s HS yearbook and

found this pic that looks just like that omega guy with Senator Sexy.

Is this him?!

[jpg.CharlesXavierWCAClassOf2008]

@TMZ @BuzzFeedCeleb @SenatorLehnsherrNY

#SenatorSexy #FoundWaldo #GotIm

**973** Retweets **4.5k** Likes

**Erik Lehnsherr** @SenatorLehnsherrNY

We love hearing from our constituents. At this time, we have no comment

regarding the photo circulating social media. Our focus is on passing SB 140

to ensure equal justice for all Americans.

-Raven D.

**1.7k** Retweets **8.5k** Likes

**Dylonne** @NetflixAndDyl

| _We love hearing from our constituents. At this time, we have no comment_

| _regarding the photo circulating social media. Our focus is on passing SB 140_

| _to ensure equal justice for all Americans._

| _-Raven D._

That’s not a no.

**973** Retweets **4.7k** Likes

**Heavy.com** @HeavySan · 15m

Charles Xavier: 5 Fast Facts You Need to Know

**703** Retweets **2.9K** Likes

**KyrieK** @SpecialK_680

| _Charles Xavier: 5 Fast Facts You Need to Know_

Mutie! YASSSS!

#MutiePride #MutieLove

**33** Retweets **432** Likes

**Miles R.** @MoreThan2Cents

| _Charles Xavier: 5 Fast Facts You Need to Know_

Well, if Lehnsherr’s planning to run for President he just sank own

his battleship. A mutie mated to a foreigner? No way.

**97** Retweets **62** Likes

**Roberto Chipotain** @IKnowGuacsXtra

| _Well, if Lehnsherr was going to run for President he just sank own_

| _his battleship. A mutie mated to a foreigner? No way._

If you’d read the article carefully, you’d know Xavier is an American citizen.

He went to Oxford, but he’s lived in New York for most of his life.

**13** Retweets **389** Likes

**BuzzFeed Celeb** @BuzzFeedCeleb · 1h

15 Pics of Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier that We’re Obsessed with Right Now

**703** Retweets **3.6K** Likes

**Ella Belafontaine** @EllaBellaBNY

Oh man. New photos again? The priest at confessionals is getting tired of hearing

about my impure thoughts.

#ForgiveMe #SorryNotSorry

**17** Retweets **831** Likes

**POPSUGAR** @POPSUGAR · 1h

The best color combos for a summer bond ceremony.

[jpg.LehnsherrXavierCraftMarket]

**215** Retweets **834** Likes

“Mission accomplished,” Raven says with a big grin as three separate hashtags about them leap into the top 20 trends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Creating pretend tweets is so much fun. I tried to imagine what it would be saying if our politicians had super powers other being super twats.


	6. Chapter 6

The next big outing is Fourth of July, an extremely important holiday for a politician, current or aspiring. Erik is invited to be the Grand Marshal of the Independence Day parade for his home district where he previously served as Councilman. Raven declares it a perfect opportunity for lots of people to see them without being able to ask questions, so they graciously accept.

Fourth of July is serious business. The sun is just breaking the horizon when they arrive at the parade’s staging area, but the air is already buzzing with excitement and happiness. There’s red, white, and blue as far as the eye can see and the noise levels make it hard to hear instructions. Erik and Charles are placed in a bright red convertible decked out with stars and stripes bunting, the top down so they can sit on the back of the vehicle, feet on the seats. In front of them is a young Explorer Scouts troop proudly carrying the American flag, the New York State flag, and an Explorer Scouts parade banner, armed with buckets of candy to hurl at delighted crowds of children. Behind them is one of the local high school marching bands, dressed in royal blue t-shirts, khaki shorts, and flag-patterned ball caps in deference to the summer heat, cycling through an upbeat, patriotic setlist.

The crowd is thick, the sidewalks lined three or four deep on each side of the road by people in camping chairs, whistling, cheering, and ringing cowbells. Every few blocks, they pass an MC with a mic and speaker set up who announces Erik to the jubilant crowds. Erik and Charles smile and wave at the excited kids who bounce up and down, shaking red, white, blue pom-pom streamers in their fists, wearing glittery Uncle Sam stovetop hats, face paint, and Star-shaped sunglasses on their faces. At one point, a group of men on stilts in Founding Fathers cosplay bound by, hamming it up, hyping the crowd along the parade route, and throwing holiday packs of M&M’s to the crowds.

“I’ve always thought this was pretty mind-blowing,” Charles yells to Erik over the blasting notes of the Armed Forces Medley, arm growing a little tired from the constant waving. “Britain doesn’t have anything like this.”

“Well, nearly every nation that has an Independence Day is celebrating independence _from_ Britain,” Erik points out, taking a moment to throw out a handful of plastic whistles. “But it’s probably not too late for Britain to colonize itself just so you don’t feel left out.”

“I might have to convince them just so some of these handsome Marines can come liberate us,” Charles says, eying the service men and women in question.

“Hey!” Erik shoots back, mock offended.

Charles bites back a laugh and throws out more candy and plastic noisemakers, enjoying the music and the jubilant atmosphere.

Two hours, six miles, and a light sunburn later, their vehicle reaches the end of the parade route and they gratefully climb down. Raven meets them, wearing a bright red booney hat, a royal blue V-neck, and pristine white cargo capris. She guides them to the first stop on their mini-press junket. Over the next half hour, they take photos with the current Miss and Mr. Omega New York, the New York State Color Guard, the drum majors and director from several middle school and high school bands, the district’s Fire ladder company, and a local singer who made it to the semi-finals of America’s Got Talent.

The last thing scheduled are a few soundbites for the local news stations. One-on-one interviews, each reporter gets five minutes max. Erik is lead, obviously. Charles will speak only if spoken to and limit his answers to light-hearted responses. Questions about a potential campaign launch or digging too deep into their relationship will be deflected by reminding the reporter that today is about America, not the two of them.

“Senator Lehnsherr, thank you so much for agreeing to speak with us today,” says a pretty, beta reporter in a red sleeveless dress. She shakes Erik’s hand firmly, then looks at Charles, curiosity shining in her eyes, but she doesn’t ask the question she so obviously wants to.

“It’s my absolute pleasure, Mandy,” Erik says with a smile.

Erik spends the next few minutes praising the bravery of the country’s men and women in uniform and talking about the sacrifices made by generations past to make America what She is. He then calls for present day New Yorkers to continue in the tradition of working together to build a more perfect union as the forefathers intended.

“Well said, Senator,” Mandy says with a million-dollar smile. Then she pivots smoothly to Charles. “Did you enjoy the parade today?”

Charles nods. “Oh, very much so! I told Erik I’ve never seen anything that could compare to a Fourth of July celebration.”

Mandy’s eyes light up at the crisp sound of his accent. “Is this your first Fourth of July parade?”

“Oh, no, no,” Charles corrects with a playful, exaggerated shake of his head. “I’ve lived in New York for decades now. But it was the first holiday I can remember celebrating here. I’d never seen anything so amazing and welcoming. It really left an impression on me and has always had a special place in my heart.”

Mandy nods encouragingly.

“Well, as we all know, the Fourth commemorates the victory of the American Colonists over British Occupation, but since then the U.S. and Britain have gotten along quite well, leading to a friendly rivalry. From your lovely accent, it sounds like you have a foot on both sides. Which country would you say you identify with more?”

“Oh my! Not holding back are we?!” Charles laughs with a winsome grin. “Well, yes. My father was born here in New York and my mother is from the Northwest of England. While Britain does hold a special place in my heart, America is where I spent most of my childhood and where I plan to spend the rest of my life.”

Mandy tilts her head conspiratorially. “Speaking of the rest of your life, any special plans you care to share?”

“Well, our special plan for today is to grab some of that delicious BBQ we’ve been smelling all afternoon,” Erik interjects, seamlessly, “and then find a nice spot to watch fireworks. Thank you so much for your time.”

“Likewise, Senator. You, too, Dr. Xavier,” Mandy replies, not the least bit chagrined to be fishing for confirmation.

Charles winks and doesn’t correct her on the name. She grins then pivots into her wrap-up as he and Erik move on to the next reporter to repeat the whole song and dance.

**AC:NewYork** @ModernAssassin

We were right! The internet is undefeated!

#CharlesXavier

 **10** Retweets **174** Likes

**Jack Spirro** @RomPoPoPirate

Ohmigawd. That accent! I didn’t think he could get any hotter. I was SO WRONG!

#CharlesXavier

 **18** Retweets **106** Likes

**Hakuna Matata** @AYoungWarthog

Bet he just lost all his street cred in the UK.

#USA #USA #USA

#CharlesXavier

 **299** Retweets **464** Likes

**DiabloDante** @DevilMayCryy99

I could listen to him talk all day.

#CharlesXavier

 **56** Retweets **314** Likes

* * *

Later that night Russell Sharpe, magnate of the Sharpe Shipping empire, livestreams an hour-long firework display set to a mix of Top 40s and patriotic tunes. After the last firework detonates, it immediately transitions to a speech declaring his candidacy and a request for support. The video clearly has a lot of production value; the speech is finely tuned with the intention of coming across as spontaneous but well thought-out. The stream ends with a link to his campaign website for supporters to donate or sign up for newsletters and updates.

“Whoever is doing his campaign coordination should be fired. Well, I’d actually like to hug them, but _he_ should fire them. This is a totally unforced error,” Raven says, squinting against water rivulets as she re-watches the video, studying the announcement portion frame by frame. She’d pulled up the video as soon as she’d been made aware of its posting, eager to see the announcement of the first person bold enough to plant their flag in the field.

Her hair is still wet and slicked back from coming directly out of the courtyard pool and they all smell faintly of chlorine and grilled meat. They’d just come inside when Raven’s phone notifications started going off like crazy, her keyword alerts having been tripped by Sharpe’s hashtags.

“It’s drowning in the sea of Fourth of July and fireworks pictures and videos,” Charles notes, scrolling through his own phone once his bathrobe is secure.

He pauses to hand extras to Erik and Raven to put on over their swim towels so they can stop dripping onto the wood floor. Hank, who’d been too shy to do more than dangle his feet in the pool while still wearing a swim shirt and water shoes, is fine. Not really part of this impromptu campaign huddle, he stands awkwardly to the side.

“It looks like he tried to hype it on Twitter all week, but people thought it was just another firework show, which they can see in person _with alcohol._ Barely even fifteen thousand people watched it live,” Raven scrutinizes as she uses one hand to pull her robe on. “And that was probably for the fireworks and music part. It’s already dropped to the very bottom of the Explorer page on Instagram, and it doesn’t even show up under ‘For You’ on TikTok.”

She scrolls a while longer, shooting off some messages, presumably notes and critiques to Jubilee, their long-standing social media specialist, who will be handling Erik’s eventual candidacy announcement video once they’re ready to announce.

“This is sloppy and the exact opposite of what we’d advise you to do,” Raven tells to Erik. “It’s obnoxious to try to make the Fourth about your political career and people are way too drunk to remember anything that happens after fireworks anyway. He’ll be washed out by Christmas.” She nods her head firmly at her own assessment.

“I say we go back to our festivities.”

Erik doesn’t seem sure what to think of a billionaire tossing his hat in the political ring on the Fourth of July, but Charles knows Erik trusts Raven’s judgment.

“Okay,” Erik says. “Showers for everyone and then _National Treasure_ and red, white, and blue margaritas in t-minus forty-five minutes.”

* * *

The following Monday, Erik and Bill report to the State Capitol building in Albany for the Governor’s bi-monthly legislative alignment meeting. It’s an opportunity for all of New York’s lawmakers to gather in one place, face-to-face to discuss and debate the pressing needs and legislative priorities of the various boroughs. It’s also lets them schmooze and bargain a bit to promote special interest programs and laws that more heavily favor their own specific constituent subset. Generally, these meetings are cordial, owed mostly to the fact that the Governorship, Congressional Seats, and State Delegate leadership majorities are all held by the same party. In the face of a nearly veto-proof majority, the minority chairs of the state House and Senate typically reserve combative contention for issues of the utmost importance to their constituents.

Today, they’re woodshedding legislation for several key proposals including increasing the state minimum wage for tipped workers, automatic voter pre-registration for seventeen-year-olds who will turn eighteen prior to election day in an election year, requiring insurers to pay for IVF treatments, and bail reform which dovetails nicely with Erik’s proposed reform bill at the federal level. None of it is overly controversial for their state or its voters, so today has devolved into more of a country club-like social session.

“Sebastian, you get any good golfing in this month?” Bill asks Lieutenant Governor Shaw.

Shaw shakes his head. “Not this month. Haven’t been able to get out as much I’d’ve liked to.”

“Back giving you trouble again?” Erik asks jokingly.

Shaw nurses a phantom slipped disc and a case of lumbago that conveniently only flares up whenever they all go out to the links together and his golf prowess is not all he talked it up to be.

“I’ll have you know that I have a legitimate, doctor-diagnosed nerve condition,” Shaw snipes, feigning offense.

“Oh please! What doctor?!” Bill asks incredulously.

“Dr. Nick!” one of the House Reps jokes.

“Dr. Seuss,” offers another, triggering another round of laughs.

Shaw takes it in good humor.

“Well, maybe I’m not getting out and about as much as I’d like, but I hear some of us are having better luck,” Shaw says, turning the group’s attention. “The little, blue birdy says Erik’s been seen all over town with some pretty little thing.”

“Yeah, Lehnsherr, it’s getting to the point that every time my phone buzzes, I half expect it to be social media creaming itself over ‘Senator Sexy’ again,” one of the Delegates says with an eye roll.

“Hey, they’re the ones sticking their nose in my business,” Erik defends. “It’s not like I’m going all out and showing off or anything.”

“Oh, please! You had him next to you in the Grand Marshal car _at a parade_ ,” one of the reps laughs, “like you couldn’t stand to be away from him for a few hours. What are you? Bonded already?”

“It was a nice day and I saw no reason to spend it alone,” Erik says. “It’s not like I’m out and about with a different omega every day of the week. If anyone has a problem with a red-blooded Alpha my age being seen with another healthy, consenting adult, that’s their problem.”

“Nevertheless, you’d best get a handle on the narrative,” Shaw warns, his voice not quite maintaining its jocular tone. “People are starting to chatter more about your paramour than your policy-making. It’s fine to dally, but it wouldn’t do to let it undermine your credibility and distract from our agenda this session, don’t you agree?”

“Of course,” Erik says, barely bothering to hide his irritation at being called to task and rushed, particularly by Shaw.

The Lieutenant Governor had tried to take Erik under his wing back when Erik was just a district-level councilman. But something about the man has always rubbed him wrong, from his sharp cinnamon smell to the nagging sense of wrongness Erik can’t quite put his finger on. He’s definitely not someone from whom Erik is inclined to take advice of any kind. If it didn’t play so perfectly into their plan, Erik probably wouldn’t be able to resist a sharp but subtle barb about credibility. Shaw is carrying on a supposedly clandestine affair with his beta administrative assistant, a woman nearly thirty years his junior. The press and the opposing party would have a field day if they knew. But Shaw’s impropriety would paint the whole party with a shameful brush, so for now it’s an open secret no one speaks of.

“Alright, alright, gentlemen,” Governor Pike finally interjects. “We’ve probably put the beauty parlor to shame with our obsessing over the junior senator’s love life. Anyone have a relevant topic to bring to the table?”

It’s quiet for a few moments before one of the state delegates speaks up.

“Did you see Sharpe’s announcement ad?” he asks.

The whole table erupts in groans and jeers.

“Sharpe doesn’t have a lick of political experience and his grandfather, _Hyram_ , was the one who built that business, from the ground up,” an older delegate says. “Russell only gained majority control of the company five years ago and since he’s taken over, Sharpe Shipping has only managed to break even each year when it should be gobbling up the competition!”

“Give him another five years and he’ll get eaten up by a hostile merger and be part of the idle rich on an island somewhere,” a portly rep says.

Another hour where nothing significant happens except a heaping dose of jaw-jacking and back and forth ribbing passes before the meeting finally adjourns. Bill gives him a good-natured wink as the others razz him about being in such a rush to leave and not wanting to stay longer. He waves it off, genuinely not minding the harmless teasing.

“Don’t forget,” Shaw reminds, clapping Erik on the back on his way out the door. Erik barely resists rolling his eyes.

When he does get home, he calls Raven and gives her a rundown of what had happened with Shaw.

She clucks her tongue thoughtfully. “It’s a little ahead of schedule, but since it’s clearly worked its way from the fringes to all the way to the Floor, let’s go ahead give a softball interview. We’ll float the line that you’ve been dating for a while and it’s serious but private.”

“Can do,” Erik says agreeably. “Who’ve we gotten requests from?”

“Who _haven’t_ we gotten requests from? Everyone wants a trendy blurb or video for their entertainment section. ABC, NBC, The View, Ellen, Rachel Ray, Trevor Noah, Stephen Colbert…”

“Oh! I love Steve,” Erik interjects. “He’s so much fun.”

Despite being baseline himself, Colbert is a big supporter of mutant rights and invited Erik on even before he was elected, to help people see him as more than that young mutie running for senator.

“Yeah, but under all that fun is a real, investigative journalist. He’ll press hard to get you to declare. We don’t want to do that yet, so he’ll have to wait until we’re ready.”

Erik huffs, a little disappointed, making Raven laugh.

“We want something tabloid-y enough that they’ll accept what you say at face value, but just respectable that others sources will quote them.”

“How about _People_?” Erik suggests.

She hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, ok. We’ll book _People_ , have them send over questions via email. I’ll reserve final approval rights. They may ask for a short video for their socials. We’ll have to prep Charles, but it’ll be perfect. We can cast him as a reverse Princess Di!”

Erik wrinkles his nose. “Why do you always use examples of people who died young and tragically?”

“Because you only get to old age by being boring,” she says, sticking out her tongue at him as she sends off the email to accept the interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> I gave Shaw a cinnamon scent because cinnamon is an ingredient that can get really out of control really fast. Need a teaspoon and accidentally add a tablespoon? Might as well trash it. Honestly, I considered having him smell like Wasabi, but I can’t imagine he would be able to charm people if his scent made their mouths burn and their eyes water. 
> 
> I’m trying to slide Hank and Raven together in the background but they'll never take center stage. 
> 
> Russell Sharpe is not an existing character (as far as I know), but someone had to take the plunge first. I imagine him being a Justin Hammer type character, but even less competent.
> 
> I really wish I could find either actor in 4th of July gear, but alas they're delightfully Irish and Scottish. But the mental image is SO entertaining...
> 
> Next chapters post Monday!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ginormous chapter so only one today!

Charles has waited as long as can reasonably be expected. He enjoys spontaneity as much as the next person, but despite Erik’s busy schedule, some things shouldn’t be winged. He personally puts quarterlies on that list, particularly since this heat will likely be more intense following the introduction of bonding hormones.

He feels fairly confident handling it on his own. Like most people, he started cycling years before he was ready to spend his heat with a partner. The big unknown is his new Alpha. Charles has no idea how involved Erik will want to be or even how involved he wants Erik to be. But by both his day planner and the building ache and burn in his body, Charles knows they only have three or four more days to get on the same page.

Living together has been… nice. Erik is a consummate gentleman, allowing Charles run of the place and deferring to his preferences regarding meals and entertainment to help with the adjustment period. On that first awkward night, they mutually decided it’d be best if they both slept in Erik’s bed. No point in stressing the bond by being on opposite sides of the loft all night followed by being apart most of the day.

But literal sleeping is all they’ve done. Most people would expect a newly bonded couple to go at it like rabbits, but Charles has been inexplicably hesitant. While he knows Erik so well he’d comfortably trust the man with his life, he hasn’t felt ready to share his body. Not all the way, not yet. Perhaps it’s just the harried rush, rush, rush of their pairing. He’s needed time, to process, for his body and mind to come to an accord on where they are in accepting Erik as a life mate. After all, without his powers, they’d still be working to get acquainted and build trust in each other regardless of their physical attraction.

Erik hasn’t pushed. He doesn’t ask, never points out that they’ve gotten each other off before or that they still make out on a pretty regular basis. That’s not to say Erik has taken a vow of chastity. Some mornings, Charles can feel echoes of pleasure through their bond and then he’ll smell lingering traces of earthy, leathery Alpha scent in the shower. But when they’re together, Erik gives every indication of being content with whatever level of intimacy Charles is comfortable with.

In place of actual sex, they’ve instead fallen into a pleasant nightly routine of eating dinner together, followed by an hour or two of either a True Crime mystery or a cooking competition while they scent mark before retiring for the night. It really is quite lovely, but tonight Charles finds himself worrying the stitching of his knit blanket, trying to figure out the best, least awkward way to broach the topic.

“What’s wrong?” Erik asks when their show goes on commercial.

“Nothing,” Charles says quickly.

“Mm-hmm,” Erik murmurs, sliding his hand over Charles’ to loosen his grip on the blanket and smooth the frayed threads. He then presses a soft kiss to the side of Charles’ neck.

“I can literally feel you worrying yourself half to death,” he reminds Charles.

Charles sighs with a chagrined smile. “I’m being silly. It’s just… it’s nearly time from my quarterly and I… I’ve been working myself into a tizzy about how we… how I’m going to handle it.”

“ _We_ can handle it however you’d like,” Erik says reassuringly. He lifts Charles’ hands, presses a soft kiss to his fingers. “Do you have everything you need? If not, just say the word and I can get whatever it is.”

Charles nods but doesn’t supply a list. Erik waits patiently for a long moment before speaking up.

“Alright, let’s try it this way. First, would you prefer to handle this the traditional way or would it be better for you if I just provided support?”

It’s a very diplomatic way of asking if they’ll actually be fucking or if Charles prefers to use heat toys with Erik providing pheromone support and skin contact.

Charles sits up a bit straighter, determinedly pushing his mind towards the same thinking process that has allowed him to carefully and meticulously plan and implement hundreds of complicated, high-level, multi-faceted research projects. After all, what is this if not a really extreme social experiment?

“I think… I think I’d like to go traditional,” Charles says, forcing himself not to stutter or blush, “but I’ll have some heat aids on hand. Hopefully, my hormones will trigger your rut, but if it doesn’t, we can use the toys to fill the gap.”

Triggering is a long shot this soon, but given how highly compatible they’ve been so far, it might happen. Nevertheless, it’s best to have a backup plan. If his rut stays dormant, Erik will be able to fuck, but he won’t be able to knot. That would make relieving Charles’ heat symptoms all the more challenging as his body seeks the vinculum chemicals released during knotting. It would also make the toys crucial. Without rut hormones suppressing his refractory period, Erik would be limited in how often and how long he can engage in intercourse.

“I have some heat lubricant, but the anti-cyclic relief is only at thirty percent concentration,” Charles continues. “With the bonding hormone in play, we should probably get some closer to seventy-five percent.”

“That’s only available by prescription,” Erik points out. “Are you okay with going in for a medical consultation?”

Charles nods. “That’s fine. I already have an appointment scheduled to adjust my contraceptive to account for the bonding hormones. I’ll ask for the extra prescription while I’m there.”

“What about condoms?” Erik asks. “Since we’re cutting it so close, changing your birth control right before your cycle, should I restock?”

“That shouldn’t be necessary. Since I’m already have a buildup in my system and we’re switching within five days of the start of my cycle, it should be effective immediately. And I’ve seen your test results and you’ve seen mine, so I’m fine going without, if that’s okay with you.”

“I’m okay with that,” Erik says.

He presses a kiss to Charles’ temple.

“We’ll get through this just fine.”

* * *

The next few days are a waiting game. Based on the growing intensity of his scent, his heat could start at any moment. They maintain their daily routines best they can while preparing in little ways whenever the opportunity presents itself. When Charles goes to the doctor, Erik thoughtfully makes sure the bedroom is stocked with things they might need nearby. By the time they finally lie down to sleep three days after their initial conversation, there are soft, fluffy towels resting neat and folded atop the bench at the foot of the bed. Charles’ heat aids are stowed safely in the bedside table along with the prescription-grade lubricant. Against the wall, not far from the bed, sits an unobtrusive mini-fridge Erik keeps for his own cycle, stockpiled with bottled water, fruit, and other energy-rich snacks, all stowed in metal containers and bins.

“It’s a hack I worked out a long time ago,” Erik said as he duct-taped a quarter-sized metal disc to each side of the lube bottle. “Laugh all you want, but you’ll be glad I did later.”

Charles doesn’t doubt it. The cheat has already come in handy in more mundane situations. Erik has the tiny discs and rods sewn into and taped to the sides and ends of various items throughout the house. It allows him to draw up errant sheets and blankets in the middle of the night by reaching out with his powers for the small bits in the hems. He can grab a forgotten bath towel from the linen closet with a crook of his finger. If he’s thirsty, he can even get a drink without getting up from the couch thanks to metals taps and a stainless-steel travel mug. It’s equal parts amazing and lazy.

“My first rut was a mess,” Erik says, quiet and casual as he works. “My Tati had just died not even a year before and suddenly my body was going haywire. I was becoming an Alpha without an Alpha to guide me.”

He smiles softly and shakes his head slightly. “My poor ultra-Jewish Ima did her best to help me, all the while trying so hard to avoid having to know too many details, bless her. She wasn’t ready for her little boy to grow up, but she did her best. Every time my head cleared enough to be hungry or thirsty, there was water, ginger tea, and a fresh bowl of chicken and matzo ball soup waiting outside my door.”

Charles searches the memories he received from Erik for a more detailed picture only to realize this one is not there. It’s a memory Erik chose to hold back as too personal. He’d said as much when he revealed what he knew of Charles’ first heat. Had he shared just to make Charles feel less awkward about cycling first?

“The first time is quite unsettling,” Charles murmurs, touched by Erik’s thoughtfulness. “Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman.”

“She was,” Erik replies wistfully. “I was very lucky to have her.”

* * *

Soon, they’re ready for bed. The day has been long day and Charles is tired, but he’s not sure he can sleep. He’s too sensitive, too aware of his body, of every thread touching his body. It makes him nearly want to kick Erik who has no such problem and falls asleep nearly as soon as his head hits the pillow.

In a desperate bid to escape the inundation of physical stimulation, Charles opens his mind. He doesn’t dive into anyone’s thoughts, but instead drops his own mental shielding, letting in the nearby whispers, embracing a bit of distraction from his own discomfort.

The woman who lives in the unit to the right of them is mentally rehearsing for an important interview she has tomorrow and fretting herself to pieces. She’s been working so hard, learning all she can to improve her chances. _If I get this… in a year or two I’ll be able to write my ticket anywhere and name my price! But what if it’s too soon? I’ll never get it. I wonder who else applied?_

The father of the family that lives in the unit behind them is excited. He’s spent six weeks clandestinely planning the perfect birthday outing for his wife. _She’s going to love it. Is the display box enough or should I get a gift bag? Or maybe a bow, like the ones in the commercials?_ It’s a necklace, sapphire and diamond set in silver, and he’s saved for months to afford it. Given his memories of her reactions to previous jewelry as gifts, he’s probably on the right track.

Closer by, Erik is dreaming. His subconscious is both anxious and hopeful, stitching together a tapestry of optimistic thoughts of being an effective and productive president and fears of being caught in a half-woven lie and drummed out of politics all together. _That’s a brilliant idea, Mr. President. It’s going to save millions of lives,_ followed closely by _Did you seriously think no one would ever put two and two together? What else have you lied about?_

Charles doesn’t interfere with his dreams but sends a warm, supportive push through their bond which seems to calm the man somewhat, his unconscious thoughts fading all together as he drifts deeper into sleep. If only Charles could do the same for himself.

After a few miserable hours of mindless listening while nursing a deep ache, low in his pelvis, painfully sore nipples, and a hard-on that won’t go away no matter what he does, Charles falls into a fitful sleep.

What feels like scant minutes later, he wakes again. Tired and disoriented, it takes him a moment to figure out why. His back hurts, an achy cramping at the base of his spine, but at the same time a slight shifting his thighs makes him aware of the warm slick puddling there, leaving him with the urge to fuck like his life depends on it. But only if he can do it without moving. Can he use his powers to mentally compel his own body to orgasm repeatedly while staying perfectly still in the only comfortable position he can find? Probably not. If he didn’t figure out a way to do it during puberty, it isn’t possible.

A glance at the clock on his side table shows it’s only a quarter past two. He groans miserably. He’s only slept for about two hours which would be enough to make him want to roll out of bed, directly onto the floor to pitch a proper fit if it didn’t sound like so much effort. Despite the a/c circulating and the overhead fan spinning, it’s unbearably hot. Charles crankily throws off the blanket and shimmies his sleep pants down and off. His jerky, irritated movements wake Erik.

“Whazappenin’?” Erik slurs groggily. “You started?

Charles doesn’t answer verbally, instead blasting his restless arousal through their bond as he turns to shove his hands down the front of Erik’s sleep pants, all the shyness of the last two months evaporating in a flame of irrepressible desire.

“Oh!” Erik grunts, but doesn’t object.

Charles grips Erik’s sleep-warm length tightly, first tugging then stroking quickly and firmly to encourage it from softly tumid to fully erect. Leaning in, he shoves his nose into the crook of Erik’s shoulder and inhales as deeply as he can, letting the pheromones trickle over his frayed nerves like a soothing balm. The Alpha’s strong leather scent smells like the comfort of a warm jacket on a cold winter’s day, like the safety inside of a classic car on a long road trip, like the potential of a packed suitcase right before a trip abroad, and everything else good and exciting in life. Charles licks then mouths at the skin while he works his hand over Erik’s cock, murmuring in approval when he hears the man’s soft moan followed by a hard throb of the heated flesh and the first blurt of precum wet against his hand.

When he’s satisfied with the hardness between his fingers, he moves, shifting to throw a leg over Erik’s hip, straddling him. Erik gasps when Charles barely pauses before lining them up and driving his hip down, taking the Alpha inside. Charles’ breath hitches at the sting of stretching muscles, his eyes watering just a bit. He takes a moment to adjust, willing the burn to fade. When it’s bearable, he shifts his knees then begins to move, lifting up, driving down, seeking friction to soothe the itch, wanting nothing more than to be too full to move. As he rocks, his eyes wander, tracking the flush working its way across the smooth expanse of Erik’s chest, feeling the answering sting on his own skin. Erik is gorgeous, ridiculously so. That dark ginger hair and those blue eyes and, good heavens, his body. He’s handsome and fit and kind and generous and ambitious. Any omega would be lucky to have him.

A throaty rumble burbles in his throat at the thought. _MINE!,_ he thinks forcefully.

The word must have mentally transmitted because Erik lifts a brow questioningly. But he doesn’t say a word out loud as Charles blushes.

Embarrassed, Charles lets his eyes drift close as circles his hips, focusing on the heady sensation building and roiling low in his loins, bubbling up and out. He wishes he had the patience to draw this out, to tease them both with this first time together. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Not now. Instead, he leans forward, scrunching his brow as he braces a hand on Erik’s chest for a better angle, groaning gutturally as the new positioning forces pressure onto an internal spot that sends tingles up his spine. He works himself on Erik’s cock, his inner muscles squeeze as tight as he can bear, the drag and release nearly making his eyes roll in their sockets.

 _So good…,_ he whimpers mentally.

But it’s not enough, it’s too slow.

With a frustrated grunt, he reaches between their bodies to grip his own achingly hard cock and starts tugging fast and frantic. Combined with the thick strain of Erik’s fullness inside him, it’s hitting the exact notes he needs. He whines, letting his head drop forward, panting as the tension grows and grows, pushing him to grind down harder, to stroke faster. The tingle ripples across his skin, licking like flames, and his throat grows dry and tight until he can only make helpless, mewling gasps. A few moments more and the tension breaks, finally, and he’s groaning, spilling over his own hand onto Erik’s belly. He moans, grinding down as hard as he can, desperately searching for the growing pressure of Erik’s impending knot. But it’s not there. Charles nearly cries with disappointment.

“I’m sorry, _liebling_ ,” Erik murmurs softly, regret coloring his words even though he has no way of forcing his body to comply. He’s trembling beneath Charles, a testament to how hard he’s trying, holding back his own pleasure since he knows he’ll be limited without his rut hormones.

Charles kisses him, hoping it conveys the words of acceptance he’s too worked up and strung out to voice right now.

Without the needed hormones, the first orgasm barely touches the insistent demand of his body. He quickly works himself up and over twice more and Erik gamely tries to accommodate him, but when the refractory period kicks in after the Alpha’s first orgasm, it’s clear they’re going to need their back up plan. Erik opens the bedside drawer, and grabs a toy, a vibe modeled after a thick, heavy shaft with a built-in, deployable knot. It’s a little bit larger than Erik who’s not what anyone would describe as anything less than generously endowed.

Erik liberally coats the toy with the high-concentrate anti-cyclic lubricant, then pushes Charles onto his back. Settling between the omega’s thighs, he rubs three fingers around the rim of Charles entrance testing, then presses the head of the toy to the opening. Firmly, he starts to push it in. Charles groans, his head tipping back and his legs falling wantonly apart, his body aching sweetly as it opens and gives way to the welcome intrusion. His cock jerks and leaks against his belly.

“Please… Erik, please,” he whines, needing something, needing _more_ …

Erik shimmies down, down, down, until he’s eye level with Charles’ pelvis. He hooks a pale thigh over his shoulder, kissing the sensitive skin at the crook as he presses Charles’ legs apart. With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he opens his mouth then sucks the hard flesh down to the root, never once breaking eye contact.

Charles shudders, his hips bucking, and that’s all it takes for him to shoot into the wet, warm heat.

“Ahhh,” he keens hoarsely as his body jerks and shivers through the flood of exquisite sensation. The sound stretches into a thin hiss when Erik doesn’t let up, his mouth and throat still working, sucking, swallowing, demanding. His free hand grips the toy, pulling it out sweet and slow only to shove it back in fast and hard. Charles hooks his other leg over Erik’s shoulders, buries his fingers in that sandy red hair, arching, as Erik push, push, pushes the toy, finally forcing the knot past Charles’ tight ring.

“Erik!” Charles cries out as he comes again, his entire body pulsing with release. Erik eases his suction, down to a soft suckling to stretch out the good feelings, making Charles squirm, squeezing tightly around the full knot inside of him, mewling his relief. When the pleasure eventually fades, a wave of exhaustion hits him. They’ve finally hit the first peak. With a relieved and temporarily sated sigh, Charles tugs at Erik’s hair pulling him off.

“So beautiful, _mein schatz_ ,” Erik murmurs, licking his lips, his voice rough and raspy. With a heavy sigh, he pushes up, climbs over Charles to tiredly flop down beside him on the bed.

Using his powers, Erik opens the fridge and floats over two bottles of water and a small bowl of grapes and cubed cheese. Charles yelps when the frigid containers brush against his hot skin. Erik murmurs an apology, grabbing a towel to nest everything in.

Cracking one bottle open, he greedily drains it in one go before giving a satiated sigh. Then he shifts to Charles, wanting to take advantage of the brief respite in his heat. He feeds Charles grapes and cubes of cheese between sips of water until Charles refuses any more, the heat beginning to rise again, one hunger subsiding for another. Noting the warning, Erik clears the bed of detritus. He reaches into the side drawer and roots around for a moment before pulling out a knot band, an extension-type toy that will help Erik stay hard and imitate the knotting experience. Charles watches intently as Erik works the band down onto his shaft, pushing and smoothing the dense silicone to get it down to the base, his cock growing firmer with each passing touch.

By the time it’s firmly seated, Erik is hard again and Charles is back in the clutches of his heat, hard and wet, leaking and whining. Far beyond formality, Erik flips Charles onto his stomach, gripping the heat aid, he carefully tugs, hissing in sympathy when Charles whimpers as his body strains then relaxes, the toy slipping out with a lewd squelch and pop. But before Charles can whine at the loss, Erik slides between his thighs, lines up, and pushes in. Charles scrabbles at the sheets, moaning gratefully with each hard thrust, begging for more, harder.

They go at it for another half hour before Erik has to release the band and he orgasms not long after that.

That leaves them at cross-ends. Despite his valiant efforts, Erik is spent and clearly fatigued, but Charles is still wired, panting, and nearly in pain as his heat flares unabated.

“Erik, please. I need…” Charles whines, pushing a barrage of filthy mental images at Erik, pleading for his partner’s help.

“Shh…,” Erik murmurs soothingly.

Marshalling his strength, he coats his fingers with enough anti-cyclic lube that it’s dripping down past his wrist and shifts between Charles’ legs again. He slides his fingers in, first two then three, pressing hard and scissoring them apart. Charles is sloppy wet with his natural slick and the medicated aid. He’s stretched open from their play, dark pink and swollen, and Erik’s fingers don’t meet an ounce of resistance. Charles lifts his hips and arches his back into the touch. He hiccups and sobs, clearly having reached the point where it’s more hormonal instinct and drive than real desire, and he reaches down to grab at Erik’s forearm for seemingly nothing more than connection and reassurance.

By the time Charles squirms away from him and collapses, Erik’s entire forearm aches with fatigue and the tendons leading to his fingers feel strained. His tongue is numb and he feels like he has a ring of friction burn around his mouth.

They both splay across the bed, completely wiped, knowing this is only a temporary reprieve.

“At least when this is over we don’t have to worry about it again until next cycle,” Charles says tiredly.

“If we were synched. _We_ have to do this again in about three weeks,” Erik reminds him, exhaustion heavy in his voice.

Charles blinks, clearly having forgotten that little hitch. He groans and then laughs almost to the point of hysteria.

* * *

After three intensely pleasurable but thoroughly exhausting days, the grip of heat finally dissipates. They’re both walking a little funny from residual soreness and friction burns. After a long soak in the tub, Charles declares they would both benefit from a little time apart.

“I think I’ll spend a few hours at my flat while you catch up on his work here at the loft,” Charles says. “I need a little time to think, to process.”

Charles is honest enough to admit he’s a bit flustered by how utterly clingy and needy he’s been over the last few days.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Erik assures him when he says as much. “Your body chemistry was pushing you to mate with a highly compatible partner. It’s to be expected.”

“I know,” Charles says, “but it’s still hard to look back on in the sober afterwards.”

“Well, if you think you were somehow shameful, I can’t imagine what you’ll make of me next month,” Erik says as he digs out his laptop.

“Why would I ever think poorly of you?” Charles asks.

Erik gives him a pointed side-eye. “Clearly you’ve never dealt with an Alpha in rut around a highly compatible omega. Knot-headed Alpha male didn’t become a stereotype by accident.”

Charles begrudgingly nods in acceptance and mentally makes a note to add another pre-cycle planning strategy session to their calendar.

“We’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”

But for now, he really wants to get some fresh air and spend some time with someone other than Erik or his sister. Grabbing a sweater, he heads out.

* * *

A knock sounds at the door of Charles’ wanna-get-away apartment. He sprays one more gust of scent neutralizer and nervously smooths the front of his cardigan before moving to open the front door.

“Char—whoa!” Hank McCoy stops abruptly, cupping a hand over his mouth and nose, blinking rapidly.

Charles smiles ruefully. “Yes, I’m sorry. Please do come in. We’ll sit out on the balcony.”

Tugging his shirt up over the lower half of his face, Hank enters, making a beeline to the open sliding door that leads to Charles’ balcony.

They take a seat at the outdoor chess set, chilled hibiscus tea on hand. Even with the gentle breeze floating through and Charles down wind, three days’ worth of concentrated Alpha scent marking is still quite strong. While it’s reassuring to Charles, it’s pungent to betas like Hank and downright repugnant to other Alphas.

“I apologize again,” Charles says as they settle in for a game. “I know it’s unpleasant.”

“It’s fine,” Hank lies politely, lining up his pieces. “It’s not even that bad out here in the open air.”

Still Charles feels a little bad. Hank smells quite pleasant, like books, or more specifically like the scent one would get by flipping the pages rapidly. It’s a comforting smell, one of the many things about the man that made it easy for Charles to grow comfortable enough to befriend him. Charles honestly hadn’t realized until now how much he missed both it and Hank.

“So, if what I’ve read online is true, I guess congratulations are in order,” Hank ventures as he opens with pawn to e4.

Charles parries, pawn to e5. “Not just yet. But soon...”

Hank moves knight to F3 and Charles answers with knight to C6 to avoid starting the game down materials.

“This Alpha scent I’m smelling, he’s the reason you’re leaving?” Hank asks.

Charles hadn’t officially put in his two-week notice, but he had contacted HR for an unpaid emergency leave of absence. Hank, of course, had noticed immediately, texting after Charles’ first day absent to make sure he was alright. Extremely brilliant and one of Charles’ best friends, Hank is also a painfully shy introvert. Relieved to have found a kindred soul, Hank has always been a faithful friend, quick to celebrate Charles’ successes and equally quick to express concern over his well-being. Charles had assured Hank he was okay and that he would explain everything as soon as he could. The care and concern Hank has shown is one of the many things making it hard to walk away from his job.

When Charles doesn’t answer his question, Hank looks back down at the board and moves bishop to c4.

“This seems very sudden,” he says. “I never took you as the type who would drop everything to follow an Alpha. I was even more surprised to read that he’s a senator. I’ve always been under the impression that you like your privacy.”

That’s because Hank is very perceptive.

“I do,” Charles says, distractedly making his next move. “It’s complicated.”

Hank captures his knight, a move he’d never pull off if Charles was completely focused.

“I’d like to understand,” he says softly, biting the inside of his lip. Hank has a nasty habit of worrying the inner skin to the point of painful tenderness and then having to ice the irritation.

Charles considers it. Erik has an entire small team of confidants, but Charles hasn’t been able to tell a soul.

“If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else,” he says. “Not a word, not a soul.”

Hank looks nearly offended. “Have I ever broken your confidence?”

Never. Not when Charles claimed he was too sick to come into work for a week but had secretly traveled to Churchill College at the University of Cambridge for what had ultimately been Stephen Hawking’s last public speech. Not when he’d accidentally unbalanced their terribly expensive centrifuge and had to spend several nights working to fix it without alarming their department head. Not even when he’d had to mentally convince the entire Board of Regents that they weren’t seeing and smelling a researcher so nervous he’d puked down the front of his shirt right before his big presentation with no time to change. Hanks one of the only people who knows the true extent of Charles’ powers and he has always silently had his back. And telling him would be such a weight off of Charles’ shoulders. So, he does.

“And that’s why I can’t stay,” Charles finishes, unbelievably relieved to finally share with someone. “I would if I could. Or at the very least take you with me.”

“Wow,” Hank says, scrubbing the heel of his palm across his forehead, knocking his glasses askew before readjusting them. “That’s very… wow…”

“Yes,” Charles agrees wholeheartedly.

“Can you imagine it though? Being the First Gentleman? Mutants in the White House?!” Hank says, his tone awestruck.

Charles nods. “I’m giving up a lot, but I truly believe it worth the gamble.”

“I sure hope it works,” Hank says with the sincerity that has always endeared him to Charles. “If there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Charles answers with a grin. “Right now, you’re doing all I could hope for in helping me stay sane.”

“Happy to serve my country,” Hank chirps.

“Enough about Erik and politics,” Charles says, really focusing on the chessboard, determined to salvage this game. “My brain is turning to mush from inactivity. Please dazzle me with whatever you’re working on. The more esoteric the better.”

Hank’s eyes light up. “Well, I’m actually exploring evidence that Rh null blood may be more common in people with the x-gene than the general population. If I can prove it and find ways to leverage that, it literally may revolutionize Mutant health care as we know it.”

Charles sinks into his friend’s excitement, happy to be on familiar ground once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: That was fun to write ;) But seriously, I liked the world building around it. Not just the sexy time but the preparations of preparing for it. 
> 
> I like Hank. He doesn’t appear heavily in this story (although I considered since the original movie trilogy has him in the Presidential cabinet as a Mutant advisor. But I like his dorky, awkward Prequel personality better). I gave him my favorite smell as his scent :)
> 
> Next chapter posts Wednesday!


End file.
